Dreamwatch
by Renmazuo
Summary: The cerulean journey through time and space. A Chrono Cross retelling, story touched-up to make a little more sense. Warning for heavy violence and light sensuality.
1. Prologue

**Dreamwatch  
**A Chrono Cross Dramatization  
by Renmazuo

_What was the start of all this?  
When did the cogs of fate begin to turn?  
Perhaps it is impossible to grasp that answer now  
From deep within the flow of time... _

_But, for a certainty, back then,_  
_We loved so many, yet hated so much_  
_We hurt others and were hurt ourselves..._

_Yet even then we ran like the wind  
Whilst our laughter echoed,  
Under cerulean skies..._

_

* * *

_

Prologue : Encroaching Shadow

Ex Nihilo, Beyond Time and Fate

"Memory destroys illusion. Yet, even now, I hide in dreams."

Here there was nothing, and then there was something. In the black, formless void drifted only the faint echoes of lost weeping, and the crackles and roars of nature's dying breath. Amidst the ghostly melody, sparks of light flared and faded as though ripped away, and within the pandemonium, a single platform of unearthly stone hovered in the turbulent air. A single shadow was cast upon the pristine, smooth white surface of the rock, its owner seated and huddled upon the platform. In other times, he would have looked a young man, perhaps no older than twenty-five, his attire a dark cloak limned in maroon and simple black garments beneath. His knees were hugged against his chest, his face hidden by unrestrained ebon hair that spilled down to his waist, and to the unseeing walls around him, the most notable feature about the man would have been the gold and obsidian ring, imbued with a bright amethyst jewel, placed on his finger. He was the epitome of the handsome highrolling hero, the kind of image that sprung to mind in folklore and fable when the adventurer appeared to save the day.

He sat there, oblivious to the chaos around him, and waited.

For insanity. For love. For death. It doesn't matter. Give me something...

"You keep even your tormented waiting, Lavos." His voice was light but tortured, and the words themselves were drowned out by the screams of the dying that streaked through the chaotic walls among the void. He did not stir for a moment, and then began to rock back and forth. How long had he been waiting here? Seconds, hours, days, months, millenia? It bothered him. No, it angered him. He hated waiting. Waiting made him remember and regret- two actions that he despised with all the ire in his heart. And only with great difficulty was he able to hide from that memory and sorrow.

So, to prevent remembrance, he talked with himself. No; less to himself than to the other occupant of this dark and foreboding place, adrift somewhere in the sea of deathly cries and pallid light.

"I never thought I'd be this morose at the end of the world...at the end of time," he murmured, not for the first time, and shook his head. "I'm disappointed in myself. Simply a dead, empty world of shadow...that's all this is, isn't it?"

Another scream died on the wind, one of a tortured woman. He only chuckled, genuinely amused. "Is that your answer, Lavos? Meaningless screams? I would have suspected as much."

He leaned back until he lay on the stone floor, letting his cloak form a thin mattress beneath him, and stared up at the turbulent sky- no, the turbulent black vortex swirling above everything, sucking in the strands of rainbow light that formed here and there. It gave no warmth, no chill, only darkness, and seemed to drown out all sound as well. The man could not even hear his own breathing over the vortex's fierce pull on existence. It was a cruel trick, that- the concept of his last breath was pleasant to him, and that wormhole sought to deprive him of it, his sole comfort.

He looked up at it, uncaring. Try as it might, it was never going to suck in anything other than the strands of light. His presence, as well as that of "It" here, guaranteed that. An odd balance, but efficient- for the countless times that the vortex had tried to venture closer to him, his body had tingled and the vortex remained in its current position. A curious balance, it was. As he glanced to the horrifying sight, he couldn't help but ponder it. Had it just been so long ago that the great 'calamity from the skies' had brought this hive of horror down upon the once-peaceful strands of time? _When, oh, when, was the start of all this? When did 'fate' allow such a radiant world to suffer such a cruel death? I just want to know when...not even why..._

Impossible to grasp such an answer now.

Suddenly, he was very angry. Rising to his feet, he craned his head up to glare in defiance to the vortex above him. "Damnation, just get it over with!" he said bitterly, narrowing his eyes at the only entrance to this dead void. "I know you'll be coming soon. I know I stand no chance. I know I'm as good as dead, so in the name of all the hells there ever were, come and fight, Lavos!"

His answer, as was too often the case, came from elsewhere.

"It only pleases him."

"_It only pleases me._"

He bowed his head and exhaled through his nose, watching the rippling strands of dark-colored, watery walls all around the giant void. The voices were different- one of an apparently young woman, the other of...something- and spoke in unison. All the same, he only replied to one. "You're still here, eh? Haha...thought you'd gone to sleep, what with those snores that were streaming by earlier."

"Sleep isn't possible in this place."

"_Neither she nor I will ever sleep as long as I live._"

"That's all right." He grinned. "Any dream with me in there would not be pleasant."

There came a soft chuckle and a low growl at the same time. He turned around completely to face no particular part of the void, raising his arms up in a half-shrug. "Well? Is your father planning on joining us any time soon? When I- when we- die, it all ends. Existence is over. I'm looking forward to seeing what oblivion feels like, don't you?"

There was a sigh and a chuckle, but their origins were reversed this time. "So pessimistic. That is your way."

"_Bleak, pitiful...well, at least you acknowledge your oncoming death!_"

He'd long learned to put the latter entity aside, but it was still very difficult to have a decent conversation when they were speaking different things at the same time. "Well," he asked, "there aren't that many topics for teatime, so what brings you back to me? I'd thought you were drifting somewhere out there." He gestured openly to the impressive, endless gap to his left, which was but a small bucket of the void's massive sea.

The voice hesitated, a resonating breath flowing from it. He furrowed his brow- already, he could tell something had disturbed her. Since his "exile"- or Apocalypse, rather- he had grown to know her very well. Not intimately, but enough to know how she thought and felt like the back of his hand. At first, he had found it good company, and the thought of dying here hadn't been so bad. But gradually, the fear came again, and eventually, he just stopped caring. Now...now he felt disgusted by any presence he felt- be it either entity, or himself. But he had not yet gone past perception.

"A scream. I...I heard it."

"_Such an exquisite scream!_"

"A scream?" He cocked an eyebrow, returning his arms to his sides. "I hear millions of them all the time. Why, then, should this bother you?"

"It...it was so horrible, I knew his suffering, he was dying of horrible pain, poison, and I could do nothing but wait until his screams receded..." The woman's voice died into a choked gasp- and surprisingly, the other entity did not say a word. "And-"

"Enough." The man sighed, crossing his arms over his sternum. "You came here to tell me about screams? 'Princess', I am in _no_ mood. I want my last, worthless moments of life to become nothingness, not waste them with talk of screams-"

"That's...that's not what I wanted to tell you about," the 'princess' said. Again, there was little response from her company. "He's different. Not like the others that haunt me...he's from the Project. The Arbiter."

He looked to the abysmal wall of dying light , his expression stunned. "'Arbiter'? As in, arbiter of...FATE?"

"Yes. He is the Chrono Trigger. And he's dying."

There was silence between them for a moment, other than the continued screams of lives being lost through the strands of the wormhole above. The man stood with a suddenly weighted feeling of awe...and even more so, a sense of encumbering disbelief. He narrowed his eyes to slits, suddenly very doubtful. "You're mistaken," he said dryly, a twinkle in one green eye. "Surely you know this by now. There is only one Chrono Trigger."

He felt her resonate again, and in his mind's eye, he could see her shaking her head as shimmering, light blue strands of hair wrapped around her face. "No. He is a Chrono Trigger, just like..."

As her voice trailed off, his eyes ignited with bitterness and anger all at once. Clenching his fists, he momentarily lost that sense of coolness and composure he was accustomed to. "Don't you dare say it!"

"...I know he is," she continued. "His crying hastens time itself. Where he wails, time is uncertain...just as with the original Chrono Trigger. If this boy dies, then It wins. Fate will continue to lead the world to this place...to the darkness beyond the end of time."

Again, the second entity said nothing. He began to wonder if It were as shocked as he was at this bombshell, or if Its voice had finally gone out. The princess continued. "I...want you to save him. His screams weren't like the rest, they weren't mindless...he was hurt. He was literally, truthfully crying out to existence itself to save him...I want you to answer his call. With my help."

He grinned mirthlessly. "Certainly. Shall I take the legendary Epoch or simply catch a ride on some vagrant cab? Do you want anything while I'm there, saving the day? Some exotic entertainment or a trinket with 'Her Royal Daftness' engraved on it? Hey, don't sigh at me like that, I simply have to bring you back something, your Majesty!" He shook his head, the smile disappearing, and turned away to look up again at the vortex. "You still haven't given up hope of getting out of here. Utterly, utterly amazing..."

"There is a way."

He whirled back before the other voice could speak, his angry voice ringing through the void like the thunder that echoed with it. "Lies! Delusions! If your body could move, your mouth would have turned black with venom by now!"

"Listen to me! The vortex is not simply the Maw of Oblivion. It's our last chance for escape."

"_Don't listen to her!_"

He said nothing to either entity, closing his eyes and shrugging his arms back over his chest. The princess's voice continued. "I have a plan. I will create a new life to send through the vortex."

"_No! Useless!_"

The idea was indeed preposterous, and he was about to second the notion when she cut both of them off. "Listen, please. It is not impossible...it can be done. I am sure I can do it...I will use all of my magic, everything I can, to create myself anew. A...child, you might say. The magic inherent in the child might stand a chance of balancing both of your 'ethers' out if you enter it at the precise moment. With...Its presence, here, serving as a buttress, and forming that balance of magic between your corporeal form and the child's, you might escape oblivion.

"If so, then you could both propel through the past, and ride time itself."

Silence- from the princess, from It, and from the awestruck man on the platform. Her words registered, at first, but their meaning was a shock to him. He felt his jaw drop, just slightly; his knees wavered, and he almost fell. As it was, he dropped to one knee, not believing what he'd just heard. "...Ride time? You mean...go back? Before all this?"

"Yes."

"_No, you fools! You'll all perish!_"

The old part of him wanted to refute It, but he knew better. Dimly, he stroked the ring, its smooth texture somehow soothing the growing hope- as well as an almost insane fear- in his mind. The promise of being free once again, to have a second chance, was all too great for him. This empty, dead place was the last place he ever wanted to be- and yet, he felt horrified at the thought of leaving it. After so much darkness, after so much horror...could he handle anything else? Seeing the sun and moon once again, seeing flesh and blood, seeing eyes and lips curved into smiles and frowns...would it destroy him? Would he go insane?

Perhaps. But better to go insane in human company than in the presence of a crushed girl's soul and a horror beyond all human comprehension. And at least he would stand a higher chance of meeting his end at the hands of something better than Lavos.

"...You are willing to give this up?" he asked.

"Yes. I don't know how it will work, but there's a chance...and maybe my new life will survive, somehow. I do not know. But hope, however small, can work wonders," her voice told him.

"_Brainless pawns! You sacrifice both your lives to allow me the victory!_"

He shook his head, rising up with a long-forgotten look in his emerald vision- purpose. "Say all you will, Lavospawn, but I believe her." He stretched out his hand to the wide gap of the void, closing his eyes. From the depths of the dark infinity spiraled an object- long, slender, and curved. In mere seconds, a sheathed, slightly elongated katana sword was summoned to and clasped firmly in his outstretched palm. It sent tingles up his forearm, to have this old cherish of his back in his grip again. It was fitting, in a way- long ago, he'd vowed to die a swordsman. If the princess's plan failed, then, well, his vow was well kept.

"My sentence here has been long," he told her. "One way or another, it ends. If I am annihilated, then I won't have to go through the regret any more...I will no longer have to hide in dreams. If I can make it, then I will find this 'Chrono Trigger.' Maybe then, fate will at last be met with hope."

"Please hurry. You are that last hope."

"_Yes. Hasten, and die._"

He craned his head up to look at the spiral of death above him, the path to nothingness. Frowning, he looked back over his shoulder aimlessly towards the voice of the princess. _If this works, I will owe you more than I can ever hope to repay._ "I will protect both of these children," he said lowly, "with my life. All my life. Both the Arbiter and the Child. If I truly can ride time, I will protect them."

There came a ripple of something from her presence. Happiness, perhaps- maybe her equivalent of a smile, from her state of existence. "I know you will."

"_You shall fail. You shall die._"

For once, he responded to It. Gripping the ageless sheath tightly in his hand, he bowed his head and gritted out a reply. "My vows are never made lightly. You will choke on those words, Lavospawn." He slung the long katana over his shoulder, closing his eyes as more light swarmed into it. The actual jump into the vortex wouldn't be so hard, he assumed- the problem was jumping at the same time that the new essence was sucked into it. And, of course, the idea that his clothes might get sucked off in the attempt wasn't that appealing to him. Nonetheless, it was a small price to pay for the reward of ultimate freedom...to once again ride time itself.

He felt the presence of the princess flicker, like a candle caught in the wind, and he realized she was preparing for her final venture. In response, he crouched down upon the platform, coiling up on his knees to make the jump. It had been a while since he'd exercised, but his frame was relatively light, and with the vortex's pull, the feat would be completed.

All around him, the screams suddenly faded into quiet. He felt another ripple, as though he were caught between motion and rest, and nausea washed over him in vanishing fits. For comfort, he tightened his ring hand, the familiar touch of the hybrid ring giving him solace. The princess's voice came out in a gasp, paralleled by Its snort; as if punctuated by both noises, all lights flickered and then dimmed, and then everything was dark.

Darkness.

Just _perfect_. It was the only thing that truly terrified him anymore, the dark. Since he was a child, he had always feared it- he still remembered laying in bed, when all lights were out, and hearing the ominous creaks in the stairway outside his bedroom. He remembered holding his pillow and praying to his then-god that he would last another night, that those sounds weren't the footsteps of someone who was coming up the steps. How many times had he felt that same way, whenever he closed his eyes at night...? No; rather, how many times had he felt that way, ever since the day when his light had finally gone out?

Enough! Didn't your life teach you anything? His self-vituperation was enough to keep him in a sane frame of mind, so he held his crouch and waited. Yet that darkness...the air only filled with horrible wails and the gnashing of teeth, the vortex's grim bass moan a maddening melody. Still again, he clutched the ring, and waited- waited for anything that would take him out of this abode of nothingness, away towards something better than what he had seen in this unearthly void for weeks, months, maybe even years. Something that might give him hope again.

And then there was light.

It stung the man's pale green eyes, at first, how brilliant the light was. For a moment, he thought it was the sun, until he realized it was rising from all around the void. It illuminated the entire platform he stood upon, and he traced its strands to find the source- a vermillion ball of light, hovering in the turbulent air like a newly born red star. Its rays knew no bounds, its brightness no limit, and he dared not look at it a moment longer. He closed his eyes and felt it flare once, feeling neither heat nor cold, yet witness to a tremendous pulse of energy that sent him teetering on his feet-

-and then there was balance again, and something was thrumming at his free hand. His eyelids fluttered open to see the darkness lightened by the sole, fist-sized ball of white light nestling against his palm. His eyes displaying something between fascination and horror, he lifted up the hand, staring deeply into the shining, yet not entirely blinding, miniature sun in his hand. _Is this...a life, at its core?_

"...So fragile," he breathed in quiet wonder. "So small, but so...humbling..."

He suddenly felt the platform groan and crack beneath him, the chaos again picking up- but with violence that he had never seen before. The air suddenly whipped up towards the vortex, stinging his cheeks, and in terror, he found that the life was being carried up towards it. Before it could vanish, he gripped it gently and drew it back to his chest, shielding it with his cloak. "What's going on!" he screamed over the reborn screams of agony.

The response was very weak, nearly inaudible, and broken over the current of pandemonium. "Serge..." the princess's voice croaked. "Fi...erge...find Serge of Ar...st ch...ce!"

"Serge..." The man brought the meager life closer to him, realizing that it would require not an accurately timed jump, but a grip on both their lives, to make it through the vortex. Assuming they could, at that. He gritted his teeth, casting away that last shard of fear within him- there was nothing to live for but this chance. History needed to be rewritten. History could not end this way- _humanity_ could not end this way. Gripping both life and sword in his hands, the man crouched for the final time, sucked all of his breath in, and let it out with a powerful leap from the platform with all of his might. As the wormhole sucked him forward with lightning crackling in its maw, he shouted what very well may have been his last words.

"No more hiding! I will find you! _Chrono Trigger_!"

Then both lives were drawn in with vicious force, and the man yelled in surprise as the abyss drew him in, and then there was nothing else.


	2. Hope's Orison

Chapter I :: Hope's Orison 

_Arni Village, El Nido, 1020 A.D.___

_The draconian gargoyles formed a hexagon around the darkened chamber, each statue an identical effigy of the one before it.  They were the sole stone guardians of the great room, and their mouths, shining with multiple colors, cast dark purple light over the antiquated marble walls.  There was a single pedestal in the center of the hexagon, which all six dragons faced; gleaming with a soft aquamarine orb in its center, the pedestal dripped with strands of green light that emanated from the orb, wreathing it in a mystical aura.  It stood in the center of what looked like an ancient insignia- an emblem, a hexagon with its six points emphasized with a glow of one color.  There were six- red, yellow, green, blue, black, and white.  The glows within each dragon's mouth corresponded to the colors on the great emblem.___

_In response to its glistening sheen, the dragons' maws pulsed with light, emitting a curious, high-pitched note that went on and on- and then, stopped, as the hum was replaced with the sound of something metal entering something soft.___

_A girl gasped in the faint light.  She was petite, but very well-figured and beautiful- crowned with blonde hair and eyes that could themselves have been copies of the blue orb, she was young and also had a wild look to her.  A short white top was surrounded by a slightly longer red jacket that fell to mid-back, embroidered with gold linings, and she wore an accompanying skirt of the same length and color.  White streaks laced her cheeks, a purple necklace wrapped around her neck, and in front of her low-hemmed skirt was the empty sheath where a dagger should have been.___

_  
But the blade, instead, glistened bloodily from her side.___

_She winced as the blade was drawn out, the pained expression of betrayal and shock, and looked ahead to the oceanic eyes of the young man in front of her.  Capped with a red bandana over his blue hair, wearing a silver and black fisherman's shirt and blue baggy shorts , he looked like the last person to do such a thing- to stab a girl with her own dagger.  Yet there was a shadow to his eyes that hid them, hid any expression whatsoever, and he held the bloody knife at his side as though having finished a written test.  He did not look at her as she slumped to her knees, did not say anything as the blood dripped from her hand, as she clutched the wound.___

_The girl's head arched back as her lips parted in a moan, or a whimper, or a comment- it was forever unheard.  Her eyes closing, she fell forward and sprawled on her stomach to the great insignia before her.  Her face forever frozen in that pained, sad expression, the girl lay still under the uncaring eyes of the draconic statues.  Above her, the knife in the young man's hand dripped with her own blood, the wickedly curved blade raising then to the young man's lips.  Still his eyes went unseen in the shadow, and his chest puffed out slightly as he smelled the blade.___

_Then, wordlessly, he smiled with clear satisfaction and said something._

---------------------

"Serge!"  
  
His mother's shout brought sunlight gleaming into his face as Serge's eyes shot open, a gasp tearing past his parched lips.  In sharp contrast, every part of his body was seeped with sweat, less from the humid temperature of the oceanside climate than the nightmare's lingering remnants.  As he rose a hand from the sticky sheets to brush his forehead, Serge pounded that fact into his head- it had been a nightmare, it had been a nightmare.  He wasn't in a darkened crypt, standing over the body of a murdered girl as he held the bloody weapon that had claimed her life...

But I was.  That was me.  Clothes, hair, face...it was me.  Record of Fate, I was killing that girl...letting her die at my feet...

That he had dreamed himself doing so disturbed him.  It didn't fit- what horrifying, murderous thought could he have had of to conjure up an image like that?  

  
Ah.  The day before, Radius had joked about proposing to Serge's mother.  Serge forced a weak grin- that'd give anybody the heebie-jeebies.

Serge groaned, turning over from the uncomfortably wet mattress (thankfully, at seventeen, he was long past another form of precipitation) to glance at the giant window in his otherwise sparse bedroom.  The ocean was pristine and clear from this sight, an endless blue blanket occasionally riddled with foam and great, barnacle-studded rocks.  The sky matched its clarity, the sun's rays still ever bright- clearly, still sometime before noon.  Serge heard the elated shouts of children outside, and forced a relieved smile.  Though Arni Village didn't offer much to tourists, its denizens made do.  They could train with Chief Radius to become masters of elements, or hone battle skills with the resident blademaster, or go the fisherman's route and hang out with Leena-

Leena.  Oh, cah-rappa-the-rappa, I am so, so screwed.

"Serge!  I am not calling again!"  
  
"Hold your horses," Serge mumbled inaudibly, hauling himself up from bed.  Well, once again, he'd managed to sleep his head off through the night and end up late...meaning Leena would have a field day with him once he stepped out of the house.  Nevertheless, not going out would mean he'd probably end up like that girl in his dream...

_Imaginary girl.  Imaginary.  You've never met anyone like that, so grow up already and get to moving.  And if some blonde girl in a red-and-yellow bikini comes up to you today, well, just hide all the knives...___

_...hmm.  Red and yellow bikini..._

Serge shook his head rapidly, tempted to slap himself.  He stumbled out of bed, rubbing his temples in slight irritation.  His back was still sore from training with Radius yesterday (he'd been hammered with the old dragoon's _Hayauchi_ or "Quick Draw" technique), and his head didn't feel much better from taking so many lumps.  But, being as fit as he was and fairly strong, stamina was nothing to worry about; Serge had grown into easily one of Arni's finest young men, growing lithe and ideal like the father he'd never known.  And it had been said of Watsuki that he'd taken a bullet to the chest in his prime and didn't even fall down.

Serge smiled at that thought.  His dad was long gone, drowned at sea, but from what he'd known of him, he'd been someone Serge would've liked to know.  Bounce on his lap, talk to him about his day, learn how to kiss a girl...do father and son stuff with.  

Come off it already and get down there.

A loud banging sound suddenly encouraged that thought.  Serge's blue eyes widened at the horrible recognition of what that meant.  "Oh, crap!  Mom, don't!"  

He bounded from the bed, glad he'd dressed in a fresh shirt and pants the night before.  Wrenching a hand back through blue bangs of hair, he slipped on his boots and selected his favorite red bandana from the dressing pole by his bed.  Serge yanked it on good and tight, already bounding to the door of his bedroom- the room itself was flat and sparse, with only two long poles as stands for his things and a couple pots for gold pieces or beads, and as such he was out of the door within seconds.  The banging sound grew louder, and Serge grimaced.  _The thing's probably dented to hell by now!_

As he stumbled down the steps and into the single living room, Serge found and confirmed his apprehension.  By the hammock at the other side of the room, his mother was holding up a weapon- a long, winding wooden rod with two great hunks of lion shark bone, fined down to deadly blades.

And she was banging on it with a frying pan.

"What are you _doing_!?" Serge shouted, bounding over to his mother to wrest control of the weapon.  "You could've broken the hing- aw, geez, it's already loosened!"  
  
His mother merely shook her head, slinging the frying pan over her shoulder with a wry smile.  "Well, desperate times, young man.  You've slept all day and just refused to get out of bed- now what kind of impression will that make on Leena, hmm?  Besides, it's just a big slab of wood and shell."  
  
Serge looked over the dented weapon with a critical eye, twisting his lip towards his mother.  "It's called a Swallow.  Double-bladed weapon, more acrobatic than a sword, the handle twisted to allow for greater control and angular, precise cuts.  C'mon, Mom, that's not hard to remember, is it?"  
  
His mother sighed and set the frying pan down.  A middle-aged but striking woman, his mother Marge was by no means the banshee her voice suggested she was- at least, not physically.  She wore her traditional pink sundress, a purple headband tying up her brown hair, and it seemed to light up the whole place in that same shade of light red.  Serge had often supposed that he got his fairly girlish looks from her, though that was a far from flattering trait.  And the fact that she could beat him in a battle of elements...well, that wasn't something he wanted to shout from the hills, either.

"You and your blades," she muttered helplessly, crossing the light brown living room to the makeshift kitchen at its end.  "Exeter and that sword of his are what I should be worrying about, not girls.  He's a bad influence on you."  
  
"Because he's the only swordsman in town, or because he kicks ass?"  
  
"Watch your language."  
  
_Wow, she nailed bad influence and bad language in one go.  She's a ringer for Mom of the Year Award_.  Serge twisted the hilt pin on the Swallow's offensive blade back into place, then slung it over his shoulder.  "Right, sorry.  So, er...Leena's still waiting?" he asked with a wince.

His mother snorted a chuckle, heating a pot of water over a green lamp.  "Yes, she has.  She came by earlier to see if you were awake, but you, of course, were still off in never-never land.  Fate knows that poor girl's been standing on the pier for eons now, surrounded with all those children that you were supposed to help babysit...I'd be surprised if Exeter hasn't already moved in on her and taken your place."  
  
"The first one I can believe," Serge said, masking a grin.  He frowned, slightly, and tilted his head.  "Why don't you like Exeter, anyway, Mom?"  
  
His mother's shoulders slumped, her hand freezing on the handle of the pot.  Serge narrowed his eyes a little further.  Perhaps he'd said something wrong?  He did notice that his mother had the tendency to cringe at the mention of his friend's name, or hesitate before mentioning the blonde swordsman.  Always careful, as though saying it would be to invoke some terrible curse.  

It didn't detract from the almost omnipresent sadness in her eyes, either.

"I-I like Exeter just fine," she said, though she did not look at him to confirm it.  "I just think...you shouldn't stray down the path of a fighter, is all.  I like to think you'll grow up to be a fisherman, like your father did...stay at home, make an honest living.  No high-strung or ill-fated adventures, just peace and quiet.  To grow up by the sea with a lovely wife, to commit to this world by living your life to the fullest."  
  
She turned around and looked at him with the sad smile he'd grown up seeing.  "I'm being silly, I'm sorry.  But I think you could make the world better just by living, Serge.  I really do."  
  
He relented from smacking his lips.  She rarely talked like that, rarely opened up to him about what she wanted him to be.  Though she was fairly romantic, Serge never heard that kind of aspiring speech coming from his mother.  For her to answer like that, out of the blue...

It's getting to be a strange day...

His mother snorted quietly, turning her smile aside.  "I'm sorry.  Exeter's not so bad...and neither is Leena, for that matter."  She perked up again with an amused cock of her brow.  "So you'd better go and hurry to the pier, now."

The tension had dissipated, and Serge flashed her a smile in return.  "All right. I guess I'd better go and catch up to her before she gets desperate and lets Exeter kiss her hand.  Ugh...somehow, I have a feeling she's going to make me her b-"  
  
"Language."  
  
Serge shut his mouth and nodded, stepping for the door.  "Right.  See you in a while, Mom."  
  
"All right.  Take care."  
  
---------------------

_"Are we back up yet?  Sachiko, report."  
  
"Sir.  All systems have returned online.  Optical and thermal analyses of El Nido Archipelago reestablished.  Auxiliary power functioning at 93.28%.  Security mainframe has been damaged...I'll shift power from the hydroelectrical system on first level, see if I can tweak the Cops' response any.  Reports coming in from second and third levels- massive leakage in the coolant, I'm seeing."  
  
"Forget about that for a moment.  Is the Project still contained?"  
  
"The Flame's no longer haywire, but the Ashtear barrier has been severely strained.  It may not hold under the Flame's pressure.  And you would not believe this, but...the Flame hasn't responded to any of the seven tests I've been running on it."  
  
"What?"  
  
"I-it's like it won't recognize the interface.  I could hit it with a contained Ultranova wave and it wouldn't respond.  It's like somebody changed the locks on its door...and we've got the wrong bloody keys."___

_"So?  Find the person who has its keys."  
  
"I'm trying, sir, but whoever came into contact with the Flame has already established a link.  There's a rip forming in Worlds 01 and 02...it's confusing the readout, and now I can't get anything from the Records in World 01."  
  
"A rip, you said?"  
  
"A wormhole, yes.  And while that's happening, the Flame's pressure is rising...any more and it'll blow the whole Ashtear barrier.  Only thing that could fully retain it is the one it touched, the Arbiter."  
_  
_"It'll take longer just to find him.  Keep the readout on that rip ready and have Astarte circulate power from Vitae 1 and 2."  
  
"...you're sure that's wise?  Only Vita 3 will be up to prevent entry to the city."  
  
 "Assuming anyone could possibly slip by Vita 3, the Cops would cut them all to ribbons.  And if the Flame breaks loose again, well, we're going to have much bigger problems on our hands, wouldn't you think?  Carry out your orders."  
  
"Yes, sir."___

"Good.  Norris, are you seeing anything in the Archipelago?  Did the Flame hit anywhere?"  
  
"Not that I can see, sir.  It looks like the brunt of the Flame's storm went flying into space...and that's even curiouser.  You wouldn't believe what I'm seeing here, either."  
  
"Today's already too full of surprises.  What's one more?"  
  
"There's another moon in the sky on World 2."  
  
"...excuse me?"  
  
"There's another moon in the sky on World 2.  It's darker, red...it must've been sucked into orbit from the Flame's storm.  We do know that the Flame's a prime spot for supergravity, so perhaps it dragged in a second moon from space.  Or an asteroid, maybe."  
  
"If only that were true.  Norris, I want as much data on that moon as you can get, and I want it in my hand in less time than it took for our systems to return online."  
  
"Ten minutes, sir."  
  
"Sachiko, status?"  
  
"Sir, Vitae 1 and 2 now running power through the Flame.  I'm getting a decline in pressure...looks like it'll be stable for now.  I think I've found the new arbiter, as well..."  
  
"Your tone suggests a twist, Sachiko."  
  
"Th-there is a problem, sir.  He's in World 01, thrown in there by the storm."  
  
"Oh, perfect.  And the rip's already been shut out by now, I'd imagine."  
  
"Yes.  We'll have to wait, then."  
  
"You've got an ETA for its next opening?"

_"14.6 years."___

_"1020 A.D., then.  Very well...we've got a long road in front of us, then.  Keep an eye on the Flame for right now, and make sure we don't have any more electrical storms.  I want a cavity search on that rip in 01 and 02, as well.  Norris?"  
  
"Yes sir?"  
  
"Let's leave the moon for later, on second thought.  I think I have a job for you."_

---------------------

Up this close, the ocean was a fathomlessly beautiful sight, an endless blanket of blue and green.  Standing on the mahogany wood of the pier, Serge was reminded of just how breathtaking the sparkling sea of El Nido was.  Teeming with cerulean life that occasionally hosted a flipper above its ever-shifting surface, he felt a passion for the water that he had only felt in his toddler years, growing up along this same pier, and at calypso-toned Lizard Rock, and warm Opassa Beach.  As small, lush islands peeked out off the coast of Arni, Serge thought of the times spent wading in these pierside waters, where children now frolicked in carefree and high spirits under a watchful eye.

A golden-rimmed watchful eye, that he'd had the pleasure of seeing so many times.

It and its sparkling companion belonged to a smooth and youthful face, crowned with long red hair that was let loose even by the dark leather strap around the crown of its head.  That hair fell over one shoulder past the swell of a chest to a trim waist, all dressed in a light brown dress, tied with a black sash, with a blue undertunic peeking out from the part in the center.  Delicate hands resting on delicate hips, Leena was the picture of idle beauty, gazing out to the same sea that Serge so loved.  

He'd known her since childhood.  Aside from Exeter, she was the only person he'd grown up with as a friend.  But, then, she was different from the blonde swordsman, the picture of the romantic.  Serge could remember playing 'Fantasy' with her; he'd be the wanderer, she'd be the princess, and it'd be up to him to save her from the dark knight and whisk her away on the wings of the Sky Dragon.  He'd never really taken such games seriously, but he had to notice the way Leena would always touch his hand after playing, when it was time to go home.  As the years had gone by, the games had left, but the light squeeze on his hand hadn't.

Serge never understood what it was that made him squeeze back.

_Now, if I think on that long enough, and sneak in real quiet like, maybe I can get that frying pan out of arm's reach..._ Serge thought, taking great care to ease the sole of one boot on a plank.  Leena's frying pan lay strapped to the pole of the pier, just a foot from her, but still she didn't quite realize his presence yet, and the only other occupant of the pier- the old fisherman, Parjay- had his back turned to Serge, fishing to heart's content.  So, carefully, he tiptoed towards the utensil, carefully reaching out a hand towards it-

"Hey, Serge, late for loving again, eh?  Ah, I know how that is, young apprentice!"

Serge groaned as Exeter's voice boomed from behind him, his shoulders slumping forward.  "Oh, thanks, Ex."  
  
There was a chuckle at his side, and Serge craned his head towards it to find the resident blademaster of Arni Village.  Tall but not monstrous, with a long tachi slung over one well-toned shoulder, Exeter struck an imposing but definitely archetypal figure.  He was clad in his traditional black ronin robe that was frilled with gray on the shoulders and sash, and wore dark gray shirt and pants beneath it.  In sharp contrast to his dark look, Exeter had his trademark grin on beneath exotic eyes, sleekly parted blonde hair with a single black lock in the front falling to his shoulders.  

"Don't blame me, young tadpole," Exeter teased with a cool raise of his eyebrow.  "I'm not the one who spent the whole morning scoring with a pillow when you could've actually been _scoring_."  
  
Serge really wanted to hit his friend for that, but something about that grin deterred him.  That grin still came easily to Exeter, even after a life of hardship; Serge had only known so much of the ex-soldier of the Acacia Dragoons, but he knew enough to realize that smile was only a shield.  Exeter sported no scar or handicap as a reminder of the past he'd taken great care to hide, but there was that ever-present sadness to it that Serge often saw in his mother.  That look of pain suppressed...

I oughtta ask him about himself, one of these days...but maybe when he doesn't have his sword out.

That was also true. Exeter was top dog as far as swordsmen went; even though Serge was training heavily with him, he still wasn't good enough in the Swallow to best the slightly older man.  If Serge punched him, chances were that his master would have him chewing dirt.

But he had bigger things to worry about, as Leena turned with a withering glare to him.  Serge swallowed and managed a nervous smile, stepping over to her with a hand waving.  "Morning, Leena...how's it hanging?"  
  


Leena smiled menacingly, her hands turning to fists on her hips.  "'How's it hanging'?  How's it hanging?  I don't know, let's string you up and see!"  
  
Serge wilted under the slightly berserk look in her eyes.  "Ahaha...sorry, I had a strange nightm- aaaah!"  
  
His eyes bugged out as she grabbed the front of his shirt and shook him violently back and forth.  "Don't you dare pin this on a stupid dream, Serge of Arni!" Leena shouted at him, her teeth gritted together.  "You're late, Serge!  Late for the eighteenth time- that's right, I counted!  Eighteen!  You promised you'd go get some Komodo Dragon scales for my necklace, remember?  And since you were late, my mom asked me to baby site the kids!  _Me_, your girlfriend!  You abandoned me and I'll never forgive-"  
  
"Waaaah- I'm sorry, um, and you're beautiful!"

Serge was abruptly dropped to his rear with a graceless plop.  Amidst Exeter's cackles, he looked up to see Leena with her hands clasped over her heart, her eyes watering with tears of joy. 

"Y-you mean that?" she gasped.  "Oh, Serge, that was so sweet..."  
  
Serge flashed a helpless grin, finding himself back on his feet as a snickering Exeter pulled him up.  "Well, I'm glad.  I did mean it, after all," Serge told Leena, tipping back his bandana a little to show the honesty in his aquamarine eyes.

Exeter moved from Serge to Leena's side, a smirk teasing the swordsman's lips.  "Smooth, Serge.  Keep it up and maybe Leena's head will turn from me.  A fraction, anyway- ow!"  
  
Leena's fingers found the lone black strand of Exeter's hair, tugging the swordsman's taller form down painfully.  "Let's not go there, okay, Ex?" she gritted out, the flash of teeth belying the fake sweetness of her smile.  

Serge grinned, living it up.  The swordsman matched Leena's smile, breathing in relief as the sixteen-year-old maiden released her grip on his hair.  "Certainly, I'm just saying..."  
  
Leena looked back to Serge and smiled genuinely.  "I forgive you, Serge.  Thank you...I'm glad you're awake.  I was kind of afraid you wouldn't be feeling well."  She reached out to rest a hand on Serge's shoulder, gesturing for him and Exeter to come forward.  "Come on, you two.  Watch the kids with me, would you?"  
  
They obliged.  As Leena turned back to the swimming children, Serge flashed Exeter a cocky grin and mouthed "ooo, she touched MY shoulder."  Exeter rolled his eyes sourly.  

Serge stood by Leena's right as Exeter flanked her left, and the three of them looked out towards the playing children.  Serge saw Leena's cousins and brothers tossing an old ball made out of rubbery lion shark skin amongst themselves; Kiki, the preteen scale collector, bounded out to his crush, the playful but decidedly Leena-esque Lolo.  Out of that water, Serge would have seen them being reprimanded or commended by Chief Radius in schooling, or hard at work doing chores and odd jobs for their parents.  But, out there, in the water, they seemed to abandon all that, just for a chance to play.  He had to smile at that- children were a wonder to him.

Leena then spoke softly, as though voicing his thoughts.  "Kids sure have it easy... Remember when we were like that?  Not a single care or worry on our minds...how each day lasted an eternity, filled with newness, fun and excitement..."  She looked to Serge and Exeter with her familiar brightness, half-lidding her eyes dreamily.  "And we'd always plan for the future...think of all the adventures we'd have when we got older."  
  
His mother's words came back to him, and Serge looked away for a moment.  _Committing to life, leaving the adventure to others...I don't think I can do that, Mom.  Not when there's so much to see and do...the sea isn't all there is to this world.  And I'll look beyond it to see for myself.___

_Because I want to see what Dad did._

Leena's sudden pump of her fist brought him out of his reverie.  "But the important thing now is not our childhood, but my Komodo-scale necklace! YES!  We have to face up to reality and live each day anew!" she cried, a victorious grin on her face.

Exeter offered a faux smile.  "You've inspired me, maiden most fair," he told her.  Serge swore that was so bad that it hurt.  
  
Leena didn't seem to mind, winking playfully to Exeter before looking back to Serge with purpose.  "So, Serge, I want you to go to Lizard Rock and get some scales for me!" she said.  "I would join you, but I still have to watch the kids..."  
  
"Lizard Rock!?" Serge echoed incredulously.  "But...Leena, come on.  You know I can't go there any more."  He looked helpless, the memories of that awful day fourteen years before flooding into him.  Memories of drifting on the stones of Lizard Rock, surrounded by blood and panther venom, crying piteously as pain stung every fiber of his body...

And eyes.  Cold, green eyes, with those black slits down each one...

The red-haired maiden shook her head.  "You're over that now, Serge.  It's your fault; you were late! But I tell you what.  Once you collect some Komodo dragon scales, I'll catch up with you at Opassa Beach.  Is that okay with you, Serge?"  
  
Opassa Beach was a peaceful setting, a stone's throw from Lizard Rock, though the idea of being in that place- where the "incident" had actually occured- was unsettling.  But if Leena was really going to go through all this trouble for a couple dragon scales...maybe there was something to get from it.  Leena had been looking at him very differently these last few days...closer, in a way.  If there was something she was trying to tell him, Serge didn't want to put her off any longer.

Then I can go back and sleep 'til noon again.  Booya.

"What the hey," Serge said with a shrug.  "Sure, no problem."

Leena clapped her hands.  "Good!  That's what I wanted to hear!  All right, then!"  She put her hands on his shoulders, pushing him to go forward.  "Don't just stand around!  Go collect some scales at Lizard Rock.  Let's see...I think three should be enough."  She patted his arms and gave him the same wink she'd given Exeter.  "Good luck, Serge!  I'm counting on you!"

Exeter flashed Serge his easy grin.  "Tough luck, lover boy."  
  
Leena shot him a dark look.  "You're going, too.  I'm still not over finding you peeking in my bedroom drawers."  
  
Exeter's tongue slid between his teeth, and he bit it.  "Yay."

Serge raised an amused brow at Exeter as he fell into step with the swordsman.  "Bedroom drawers, huh?  Someone's been busy."

The blonde man shrugged openly, an innocent look plastered to his pleasant features.  "One of the codes of the swordsman is to protect and serve," he said, looking as casual as he could as his dark coat fluttered in the sea breeze.  "Leena's drawers looked rickety, so I was making sure they wouldn't fall apart or anything.  Now, whether or not I took pleasure in finding her measurements, well, that's beside the point..."  
  
Serge tipped his bandana back down, shaking his head.  "That's the best you can do?  Man, I'd have taken 'the code of the swordsman is to court the maiden' or even 'it was like that when I got there'.  While we're on our way to Lizard Rock, remind me to give you a few pointers on women..."  
  
"You mean pillows."  
  
_Serge_.

The voice of a girl brought Serge to a sudden stop.  He looked back over his shoulder to Leena's distant figure, but only saw her laughing and waving out to one of the kids.  Old man Parjay still sat at the end of the pier, fishing nonchalantly.  No one else was there...

Exeter looked back to him, and Serge could tell he was as confused as he was.  "Eh?  Hey, Serge, something wrong?  Your Swallow sense tingling?"

He twisted his lip, turning his head back to look at the swordsman.  The voice had receded, lost among the crash of waves down the shore, but it was obvious that Exeter had not heard it.  Serge blinked, standing there for a moment in puzzled repose, before speaking again.  "No...no, not at all.  Just a feeling I had...well, nuts to that."  He sidled the Swallow over his shoulder, tilting his head forward to the direction of the village exit.  "Come on, let's go hunt some scales.  I think an easy day is well in store for the two of us."


	3. As Destiny Beckons

Author's note:  As most of my buddies have probably figured out, there are, ah, quite a few unfamiliar characters in this.  That's no mistake.  It happens that a lot of them are actually based off people I know who enjoy the game, at least in personality and inside jokes.  While this is obviously quite a change, I'm hoping it will be a better one, since Chrono Cross was filled with characters nobody truly cared for.  This is my answer to that.  Some roles are brief, some roles are surprisingly heavy.  The basic story of Chrono Cross, though, is not going to be changed that drastically.  Think of this not so much as a novelization as a retelling.  The story will make sense by the end, believe you me, as long an end as it may be.  To me, this is "what I would have wanted from a sequel to Chrono Trigger" as opposed to "what I would have wanted from Chrono Cross."  That's what it's meant to be- Chrono Cross as a sequel.  So Mirri, Silvie, James, you can stop IM-ing me repeatedly now.  XD  
  
Those of you who are enjoying this:  thanks for the kind reviews.  While there's quite a few sections on this site I don't appreciate, you make me remember what it was like when I first came here.  Hope you enjoy.  That all being said…

Chapter II :: As Destiny Beckons 

_Cape Howl, El Nido 02, 1020 A.D._

The mountains seemed to draw in the sun more than the sun desired to set, and Kid felt the same.  The day had been so long and hot that even the relative shade of the Arnian jungles could not bring her cool solace, beating down on her weary form relentlessly.  Under the sun's searing rays and the thick humidity of the island coast, she had trekked on from the base of Fossil Valley through the open paths around the jungle north of simple Arni, then to the calypso image of Lizard Rock and up north again to where she now lay, half-strewn under a large tree trunk.  The heat was sweltering and gave out mosquito bites like red wigs in Guardia, but it didn't stop the petite thief from her scouting gaze, centered towards the distant, boil-colored rocks of Cape Howl.

"Two hours 'til sunset, wild dogs nowhere t'be seen...mosquito bites all over me, aye, Terra, why'd ya send ME out here!?" Kid lamented under her breath.  Her fellow Radical Dreamer hadn't really spared her the most detestable of the scouting jobs, sending her all over the southwest part of the island while she got to chill in the port city of Termina.  The Radical Dreamers were spread all over the main island of the El Nido archipelago, but the outliers of the duties- the relaxed job in Termina or the bug-ridden chore near Cape Howl- often had to be chosen with the short-and-long straw methods.  Kid had unfortunately wound up with the short piece of reed, and thus was charged with trekking around the warmer parts of the island.  She imagined her look made her right for the job, being langly and dressed in a two-piece adventurer's outfit.  Still, she would've looked just as right in Termina's cool bayside resorts...

_But no, Terra gets it.  Bugger..._  Kid could just imagine her dark-haired, wild companion living it up at the Magical Dreamers concert being hosted there...she'd get to see that pretty boy rocker Nikki blaring hits up the wazoo.  Kid groaned at the thought of missing "Sergeant Indy's Shadow Hearts Club" and "Lime Light."

Well, business came before pleasure, and she was definitely on duty now- though she'd make it her business to give Terra a nice wrestle-down later on.  

When she was rid of the bites on her, anyway.  She cast a grimace over the parts of her flesh that had been left bare by the spring ensemble she wore (a short red jacket rimmed with gold to match a short skirt, with a shorter white top beneath, and hiking shoes).  As the look concluded, she had to wince- though she was well-used to bug bites, getting used to the itching on her shins and forearms required some work.  Thankfully, her bare stomach had been spared the most, but that irritably drew attention to the light pink bubbles on her arms.

Sis'd probably poke all of these with her gizmos and then pass it off as a bloody exam.  Such a purple-headed little bugger, she was.

Kid smiled wryly, nestling further against the tree trunk.  Sis had always been that way, even in the last few days she had been alive.  If she were still around, she'd have probably been mortified at Kid's attire, or her adopted accent from the Guardia province where she had grown up, or her status as a member of the most ragtag band of thieves in El Nido's history.  Kid had joined them at only ten, but they made her feel just as welcome as her childhood orphanage had.  Rogues, vagrants, highriding people...it was like they had never truly grown into young men and women.  It had been forced upon them, and that was what made them such a strong band.

That chose her as the mosquito victim, she reminded herself with a growl.

Despite that, though...she was happy.  Very happy.  As she stretched her sinewy body against the tree trunk, she reminded herself how much joy and fun had come out of becoming a Radical Dreamer.  Sure, there was peril, especially with the mission as of late, but even on something like that, it was hard to become depressed.  Kid always had the comfort of knowing that, somewhere out there, there was someone like her who wanted her to come home to base at Divine Dragon Lake.  And that was enough to keep her going, even against scum like Acacia.

Her eyes narrowed at the thought of Acacia.  The Acacia Dragoons, that was their name- an army of lancers that had dominated the land, regardless of whoever owned it and regardless of their safety as well.  They were slowly carving out an empire in El Nido under the iron grip of their broad-shouldered, red-eyed leader, the man only known as "Viper."  Viper, who was General of the Acacia Dragoons, surpassed even the ranks of the Dragoon Devas- the top four warriors- in skill and power.  Some said he was a descendent of the legendary hero, Cyrus of Guardia.  Just the mere mention of his name would send a chill down a Dragoon's back, and more than once Kid herself had caught a cold sweat on the back of her neck at his name.  If that golden statue in Termina did him any justice, Kid would be left with no wonder as to why he was so intimidating.

_I'd like to meet the man, someday.  Get to know him, shake his hand- and steal his gold!_

But, once more, not this day.  Kid sighed and nestled even closer to the tree trunk, abandoning the thoughts of the old warlord who was the archenemy of the Radical Dreamers.  Today, she had much more important things to consider.  She patted the ivory-bladed dagger hanging just under her stomach, resting a gloved hand on its hilt; ahead of her, on the sun-bleached rocks of Cape Howl, was her "hunting range."  
  
In truth, she didn't need to abandon all thought of Viper.  In another hour at most, one of his Dragoon Devas would be here, and she'd be ready.

"Hope you didn't let me down on this one, Terra," Kid muttered.   She recalled Terra's report, earlier that day; their inside source within the palatial walls of Viper Minor had told them that the new visitors from Porre ("beastly and dark", as they had been described) had sent one of the Dragoon Devas and a detachment of soldiers to the Cape.  The reason was unknown, but Kid could think of a few reasons.  Kidnapping someone, maybe, or covering something up that was going on over there.  Whatever the motive, the Deva and his or her soldiers had left in the morning.  They'd be in Kid's plain sight before sunset.

Yet that was the least of things that bothered Kid.  In the report Terra had shown her, the words seemed to engrave themselves into her memory.  

Beastly.  Dark.

Him.

Kid shut her eyes for all of a moment, suddenly moving her hand to her small jacket.  She bunched up her knees and tightened it around her frame, shivering and her mouth dry.  "Not him," she whispered, chafing her arms.  She felt dizzy when she closed her eyes, as though she would fall asleep, and opened them again to let the sun bleach over her sparkling irises.  "It's not him...not him..."

There was a rustle in the bushes around her, then, and the sound of a branch snapping.  Kid felt the dagger unsheath, the weight on her belly lightened, and as it clutched in her hand, she raised it above her head for a strike.  The murderous glint in her shocked blue eyes alleviated, as a simple brown moss ferret crawled from a bush towards the broiling rocks of Cape Howl ahead.  She swallowed down a parched throat, sighing softly as she slid the knife back into the low front of her skirt.  "Bugger, this's pathetic..." she muttered.

She just couldn't forget.  Even after ten years- and even after two years, now- she'd never been able forget.  The scar on her collarbone had gone white from the natural healing of her body and the countless elemental curative spells used upon it, but it was still there, an omnipresent reminder.  The heat of the sun always mimicked the heat of the flames, surrounding her as her meaning, her life, was burned to the ground.  And the wind...

A cold, dead prickle on my skin.  Just like his hands, when he...when...

"Bloody pathetic," Kid murmured, clapping her hand to her forehead to squint out to the barren plains ahead.  She watched the ferret chitter over the rocks through teary vision, and idly she convinced herself it was the sun.  She felt angry for no particular reason, then; the sun was such a stupid, hot, bright, dumb, hot thing that made her sweat and flush and cry like she was doing now.  Such a bloody stupid thing.  Why did she have to deal with it?  Why couldn't she have just lived the rest of her life under that moon, as her life burned up...?

Dumb, ugly sun...it may as well have gone out for her, so many years before.

"...ohhh, what am I sayin'?" Kid grumbled, slapping her palm roughly over her eyes.  She rubbed away the tears, but could not remove the flush on her cheeks, the embarrassment and grief having turned to anger.  It was a fault of hers, whenever she was alone, to break down like that, and there were few things she hated more than doing so.  Thinking was always dangerous.

Then stop thinking, period!  Starting...now.  There, see- no, wait, that was a thought.  You have to stop thinking to yourself, Kid.  You're just sitting here now, thinking to yourself.  It's never going to end.  You're going to keep thinking unless you stop thinking.  So stop thinking.  Yes, stop thinking, that's what I'll do.  I am now stopping thinking.  There, it stopped.  No, wait.

"Aw, crikey!"  Kid groaned and flailed her arms, hauling herself up from the tree to stand at her full height of 5'5".  Thinking was so overrated, she thought- and then kicked herself in the heel.  Idly, she followed it up with kick to a stone, sending it across the dirt, and in her mind's eye had to grimace at what she saw.  She was pretty, in a wild sort of way, and obviously very lithe and athletic by her petite build.  Even with that, she was not what she wanted to be.  It hurt that she had grown into such a nice-looking person and yet was so haunted by everything that had come to be in her life.  

And there was so much that she didn't know of that life.  One of a million people in the world who had no idea where she had come from.  

There was the sudden crack of a branch up ahead, the loud snap bringing Kid out of her reverie.  Again, she was reminded just why she was out here, and mentally cursed herself again.  So much for professionalism, zoning out on the job; before Kid could continue her self-berating, she stepped over to the side of the small thicket, hunching down behind a tree trunk to peek out in the direction of the sound.  She could see the craggy cliffs of Cape Howl up ahead- it was a mysterious place, always had been.  It was a cove of red, sun-bleached rocks, filled with the occasional lumpy beach creature, that was devoid of the Arnian wood and sported only a simple gravestone at the end of that small, narrow cliff.  Who that gravestone belonged to, Kid didn't quite know, though she had heard it was of a drowned Arni child.

"So what might Viper's goons be out here for, eh...?" Kid wondered under her breath, fixing cerulean eyes on the scene ahead.  She could just barely see something, there, behind one of the dark red rocks at the far corner of the cliff.  A blurry motion, tan skin and billowing clothes- a man, of some sort.  Kid thought she recognized the look, but she only caught a single glance of the stranger before he disappeared from her sight.

_One of Viper's scouts, maybe?  Scrawny bastard's probably around here for grave robbery..._  Kid wrinkled her nose as though catching a fetid stink, revolted to distaste at the thought.  Whatever lay at Cape Howl, she had already narrowed down to two options, based on the General's taste- either jewels, or someone who'd asked for a little too pricey a favor from the Lord of El Nido.  Maybe both.  Maybe that tan-skinned fellow had been the unlucky fugitive, and the Dragoons were on their way now...

Kid dropped her hand from the tree trunk to gently tighten around the hilt of the ivory-bladed dagger over her belly, her chest heaving only a little from the nervousness she felt.  Regardless of who was there, she knew something big was about to go down, and soon at that-

Serge.

She spun around as a voice seemed to purr from behind her, her heart skipping a beat at the closeness of the word.  Kid's eyes were frantic, darting back and forth with blue ire as she raised the dagger up to her chin level, ready to strike.  But, to her surprise, there was nothing there.  The voice had been clear as day, as though someone had said it right behind her.  There were no footprints, though, not a trace of anyone ever having entered the clearing except for her.

"...losin' it, geez," Kid whispered with a roll of her eyes, turning back to the tree trunk.  She'd had her share of odd moments in life- she had even, as a child, wrestled a Komodo dragon pup butt-naked in the water and then dressed it up in the attire she was now wearing, but even something as stupid as that was drowned out by the voice.  That voice had been ethereal, the voice of a young man that reverberated through her body...

_There musta been something funny in that tankard Terra gave me_, Kid thought, shaking the suspicions away.  She drew in a long, cool breath of the otherwise humid and sticky air, and hunkered down to test the ivory blade of her dagger against the tree trunk.  

"C'mon out and play, mates," she whispered, feeling a bit of her usual daring self revitalize.  "Kid needs a new pair o' tickets to Magical Dreamers '21!"

--------

"Hold him down good and tight, Ex!  Let's get this baby off, and...ahhh, there we go!  Mm-mmm, that's some spicy meatballs."

Under the sunny sky over Lizard Rock, the Komodo dragon pup held in Exeter's iron grip squealed at the loss of its prismatic forehead scale.  The lizard creature was only five feet long, though bipedal, and scaled in a bright imitation of its environment.  The olive green on its back matched the palm trees that swayed vibrantly in the oceanside air; the bright beige of its underbelly mimicked the sun-brightened sand and ground that rolled over the occasionally craggy surface of Lizard Rock.  The blue ring around its jaw was almost the exact hue of the oases laid bare in the great chain of rocks leading to Opassa Beach, and the crown of red on its head matched the various fruits laid on the fresh green bushes sprawled all over the area.  In such a way, the creature and its kind had been hard to locate- and, because of its species' size, even harder to capture- but Serge and Exeter had encountered no difficulty in jumping this one as it grazed by the lake.

Serge leaned back to sit with his legs crossed and cupped his new scale in his palm, holding the Sea Swallow in his other hand.  He offered a wink to the kneeling Exeter.  "I bet you never thought I'd be saying that, huh?" he asked with a chuckle.  

The blonde swordsman could only smile back dubiously, his face covered in dripping, ominously yellow liquid.  "Serge, I realize we're done, and that this is the last dragon scale we need to nab.  A job well done.  Huzzah.  But next time, tell me more about the uses of _each orifice_ on a Komodo infant."

Serge couldn't help but snicker, reaching over to pat the Komodo pup's writhing head as Exeter held its paws to the ground.  "Maybe if you'd studied anatomy a little closer, you'd know that a Komodo dragon needs to expel as much waste as possible in order to keep its luster," Serge said, pursuing a stroke of the beady-eyed creature's scaly flesh.  "So naturally, it needs an extra opening to get rid of that waste.  It's a beauty of nature, when you think about it, that it can go out of its head!"  
  
"Can I wash the beauty of nature off my face now?" Exeter asked wryly.

Serge laughed.  "Knock yourself out," he said.  Exeter was only too happy to oblige, releasing the squirming Komodo pup into a nearby tallgrass bush.  As the golden-haired swordsman staggered off, sputtering while he stepped over to the sparkling oasis behind them, Serge placed his attention on the thumbnail-sized trophy in his hand.  He turned over the beautifully-designed scale in his fingers, grinning at the pick- if this didn't make Leena go ga-ga, he asked Fate to strike him down right there, in the center of Lizard Rock's final broad little mini-island.  For a moment, he did look up to see if there were rain clouds, but he only smiled again- clear skies and rays of sunlight all around.

"Nice day," he said aloud, hearing Exeter groaning as the swordsman dumped his head into the pristine water of the lake.  "It's a shame they won't be able to have the Viper Festival in Termina...I'm sure everybody would've loved to see Nikki and the Magical Dreamers again."  
  
"That transv...ah, forgive me, I'm not a fan," Exeter said wryly.  He used a scented mint leave from one of the tropical bushes to wipe his soaked face, dabbing the last bits of water away to dry off.  "Him and that backwards walk he does put me off when I was in the service.  Ah, well.  I did like that dancer of his, though.  What was her name?  Mini, Miki, Mirri?"  
  
"Miki," Serge confirmed.

"Right.  Well, she did a lovely jiggle.  I mean, jig."  
  
The comment was so blatant that Serge had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing.  In all the years he'd known him, Exeter had very rarely held back about his more extravagant tastes, though Serge couldn't blame him.  Wars tended to do that to a man, and Exeter had been drafted to fight Porre when he was 14, on the side of the now-fallen Acacian Empire.  Exeter never talked about those days, but Serge could tell the smiles and laughs were only his way of hiding from what he remembered.  Such was a Dragoon's life.

Even so, Serge totally dug his friend's outlook.  "Hey, far be it from me to argue with you on that, Ex," he said, "but I think Leena could do better."  
  
"In your dreams.  Which, I may add, is what you may be having a lot of if you mention that in front of her," Exeter told him with a grin.  

Serge's head swayed a little from a chuckle.  "She's got that frying pan for a reason, yeah.  Well, guess we should head over to Opassa Beach and wait for her, then- we've got all three scales."  
  
"No time to dress our war wounds?"  Exeter held up a hand littered with Komodo pup talon marks, and Serge cringed.  For such little and, well, stupid things, they had some pretty sharp claws.  Exeter had packed along a healing capsule with him, but even with its use, he still had white marks all over his palm.  Nasty little freaks, those things were.

Serge merely shook a negative.  "We'll give you another dose on the way there.  Hey, you asked for it when you started to tickle that first one's stomach."

Exeter held up his hands helplessly, then bent down to scoop up the sheathed blade he had left on the ground.  "Most animals like being petted," he said, sidling the blade over his shoulder.  As he walked to Serge, he added with a smile, "just like women."  
  
"Oh, ha ha."  Serge fell into step beside the older man.  They trekked towards the relative shade of the small trail to Opassa Beach, a welcome departure from the broiling, bright sandy dunes of Lizard Rock.  Furthermore, the Opassa trail didn't sport as many hulking, blue Beach Bums and rabid Komodo pups.  Looking at Exeter's hand, Serge imagined he much preferred that.  It was littered with scratch marks and bruises and calluses-

Calluses.  I keep thinking about that.

"Little offhand question for you, Ex," Serge said tentatively, noting the sarcastic way in which the shade of the trail seemed to fall over them.  In truth, he imagined what he was about to ask Exeter was indeed on that darkened border.  But, Serge was genuinely curious- Exeter had never given him the answer without the question.

Exeter didn't seem to catch on, and nodded idly.  "Shoot."

"Why don't you ever talk about the war?"  Serge's shoe scuffed a stone onto the path before them, his hands in his pockets and his head held down.  "I think you'd like to get it off your chest sometime, wouldn't you?"  
  
Exeter's eyelids half-closed, and, sighing, he drew his cloak around his arm.  He looked more tired than depressed.  "So much happened with Porre that I'd rather not say.  Sure, I'd like to express what happened someday, in words...but I know better than to tell you all about that, now.  As far back as he and I go, I don't think Radius wants to hear about so many men dying, left and right...really, you saw so much in that war that you could only remember the sights.  Not the sounds.  And the sights were far worse..."  

He snorted a laugh.  "And, it would be hard to tell.  I didn't think there could be a war where the good guys lost."

Serge knew what he was talking about, and pursed his lips.  That great empire to the west, Guardia, had fallen only nine years earlier, during the war.  Porre had simply grown that powerful, due to its most mysterious technological advancement:  gunpowder.  The Porre army and their mysterious leader had developed odd weapons called guns, and within two years, they had built up powerful muskets and flintlock pistols.  They made bullets that could pierce even the toughest Dragoon armor, and cannonballs that could fell a dragon rider and his steed in one shot.  After they had produced enough to bolster their army down with sleek blue, blade-resistant uniforms and a deadly arsenal of guns and ammunition, the war was effectively over.  Guardia's defeat resulted in the deaths of its ruling family and the crippling of its monarchy.  Without its support, Acacia could only hold off Porre for so long.  Then, General Viper and his Dragoon Devas vanished without a trace.  The final Porre offensive, then, took down the up-and-coming empire.  That had been three years before.  

Exeter had been one of the thirty-eight survivors of the final battle, out of an army of fifty thousand.

_Why did I ask that?  I know damn well why he doesn't want to talk about it..._  Serge sighed, glancing to his friend's forlorn gaze.  "Sorry about that, Ex.  I don't know why it occurred to me-"  
  
"Ah, don't worry about it, Serge," Exeter cut him off, reaching over to ruffle his red bandana and blue hair.  "I figure that if you survive a war like that, you have very little reason to complain.  That's why I don't bring it up."  
  
"Still, I'm sure there are those who could try to understand," Serge offered openly, fixing the rumpled cap.  "I mean...not on your level, obviously, but we can try to relate."  
  
"For what reason?" Exeter returned.  "The war's done.  It's over, and we lost.  No biggie.  So the island's teeming with Porre soldiers everywhere, and we're pretty much screwed down here in old isolated Arni without General Viper.  Pretty bad fix?  I don't think so.  We're still alive."  He tapped his nose, nodding to Serge as though to enlighten him.  "Get what I mean?"  
  
Serge blinked for a moment before it dawned on him.  He smiled.  "You don't complain because you're still alive."  
  
"Damn right.  Now, if I was one of the few unlucky combatants who got their hoo-ha's shot off with a cannon, I'd whine a little, sure," Exeter said jokingly.  "But I didn't die, and I lived, and I have only a few scars.  For that, I'm thankful."  

He grinned.  "And besides, I think Leena likes that about me.  Hey, what are you doing- HEY!  You put that thing down my tunic and I'll have you for breakfast, _apprentice_."  
  
Serge let slip the little rolly-polly insect he'd nabbed from the ground, returning the grin.  "Leena likes you like she likes a sunburn, pal," he said jokingly.  "And even if she does, I'm the lotion she smears on it."  
  
It was Exeter's turn to blink.  "So...she puts you on me?"  
  
Serge smacked the back of his head.  
  
--------

It was just after noon when they arrived at Opassa.  The sand of the small beach was laid out in such a smooth and flat manner that almost all parts of it were level, facing a bright blue ocean with only the smallest of waves.  There was a small cliff of rock that formed the entrance to the beach itself, laden with berry bushes and an old palm tree that had formed a vigil there ever since the start of the war, nine years prior.  The spot was nestled safely out of Lizard Rock's way, away from the occasionally dangerous creatures that prowled its bleached crags.  The beach was directly on the line of the world's equator, making it the most humid spot on the planet- and yet, the beach seemed to offer such a cool breeze that no one that visited the beach ever suffered from the heat.

Opassa Beach had been revered for years because of its hallowed meaning.  It had been here, it was said, that the legendary Sir Glenn- or Sir Frog, as he was better known- had been born to a dying woman, named Opassa.  The original "virgin maiden", as Serge thought of her, and that explained to him why it was her favorite spot.  Leena was a dreamy romantic, through and through...

Exeter stepped out onto the sand with Serge, his heavy black boots sending a bit of a glare to the other's eyes under the blazing sun.  "Quiet out here today," he mused aloud.  "No Leena in sight, though.  She's late."  
  
Serge cupped the Komodo scales in his hand, giving them a shake.  "She'll be along anytime, now," he said quietly.  "She knows her way around Lizard Rock.  She'll get through it without any trouble."  
  
The swordsman before him chuckled a little.  "I didn't say she wouldn't."  
  
"Yeah, well..."  Serge felt a light flush rise to his cheeks.  "Just making it clear...she's just late because of the heat."

"Or maybe she decided to give the Komodo pups a lecture on grooming themselves," Exeter cracked.  

Serge laughed, which was sad because it was so true.  Leena had actually done that to a few creatures beforehand, in the past; he remembered one such occasion when they were a few years younger.  Serge had brought home a declawed Komodo pup one day, and while he'd kept it as a pet, Leena had treated it as a son whenever they played "House."  And, naturally, when it "came home dirty", she had set to scrubbing it down in seawater.  The poor thing's skin had been turned a full shade paler by two weeks' time.

_But that's Leena for you.  Hehe, good old Leena..._  
  
"There you are!"

Thinking of the deviless often resulted in an appearance of the same.  Serge and Exeter both turned at the voice, and spotted a crimson-haired figure running across the Opassa trail towards them.  It didn't take a second glance, so Serge waved Leena over with a smile.  "So glad you could join us, Leena," he said brightly as she slowed down.  And slow down she did, to a very breathless halt.  Her hair fell into her amber eyes, the locks so long that they tickled her cheeks.  She placed her hands on her knees and doubled over with a loud "whew" sound, shaking her head.

"Sorry...I'm late!" she managed, looking up to the both of them with exhausted eyes.  "I hope...you didn't wait too long, Serge!"  She straightened up, cupping her hands behind her back as she arched it with a loud gasp of air.  Exeter stared.

She opened her eyes all the way and smiled to the both of them.  "Well?  How'd it go?  Did you get the Komodo Dragon scales?"  
  
Serge raised a sly eyebrow and grinned, holding up a hand full of sparkling scales.  As Leena's eyes lit up, he felt a little crease in the pit of his stomach.  That reaction was definitely worth a mental replay.  "What kind of man would I be if I didn't?  Here you go, Leena.  Sorry about this morning...didn't mean to sleep in so la- yikes!"  
  
He was cut off as Leena threw herself at him, squeezing him into a hug.  Serge's eyes bugged out, more from the strength in her little arms than from the closeness of her figure.  "Eesh...man, Leena, you've been working out..." he managed.

Leena didn't pay attention to it, giving his upper body a pump.  "Oh, Serge, thank you!  Thank you so much..."  She pulled away from him slowly, taking the dragon scales in her hands to clutch them to her chest.  Her gaze wandered over the prismatic stones with a slow admiration, the smile ever present on her features.  "I'll be able to make a great necklace with these...thank you."  
  
Exeter stared a little longer, much to Serge's amusement, and at last snapped out of his trance.  "Oh, uh...sorry!  I was just thinking I should pay a little visit to the, ah, palm tree.  Nature calls, if you know what I'm saying."  He winked to Serge, but it was more directed towards Leena's rather sparkling attitude.  Serge could only gulp helplessly, nearly frantic as Exeter moved away slyly and patted Leena's shoulder.  "Make sure he doesn't get out of your leash, little missy."  
  
Leena actually grinned.  "Nobody gets out of Leena's leash."  
  
_Oh, good Dragon Gods, I'm finished.  Ex, you can't do this to me!_

Serge looked after Exeter's retreating form for a moment, so fixated on the idea of giving the man a coconut to the head that he didn't notice Leena move to his side.  When he regained his composure, he found her diminute figure was turned away from him, glancing out at the sea with a slight pine in her eyes.  At that sight, he relaxed; even with that earlier, ominous joke between her and Exeter, Serge couldn't find her presence all that threatening.  She was just a normal girl, a friend- and those two terms didn't tie themselves together.  Yet.  Or not yet, he emphasized.

"It sure has been a long time since we last came here," Leena said softly.  She glanced to him with another smile.  "We used to come here all the time, remember?"  
  
Serge turned to look out at the ocean with her, having to fight back a snort as he heard Exeter give an emphatic moan of relief off in the distance.  "Yeah, I remember," he said, snickering.  "Ah...yeah.  We'd run around here when the village was having a gathering or something, just to kind of be alone.  Swim a lot, too.  You're a born swimmer, by the way.  And you look great, of course."

She giggled at that.  "Charmer...thanks."  Leena went down onto her rear to sit on the sand.  She gave a little yelp at the heat, but gradually eased into it, and hugged her knees up to her chest, and looked at the sea.  

Serge remained standing, just a few paces ahead of her as he gazed with her out at the ocean.  It still looked ever the inviting, cool blanket to him, rolling with white foam and crystal blue tint under a golden sun.  Off in the distance, he could see the small archipelagos that led out into Water Dragon Isle, home of the shrine to its godly namesake.  It was a tropical environment, seeped with blue, green, gold, and white.  It was absolutely beautiful, the kind of place Serge never wanted to leave; if he had his way, he never would.  Too many memories to leave behind Arni and Opassa and Lee-

He caught himself on that last thought.  _The romantic stuff's rubbing off on me..._

"The sea never changes, does it...?" he heard Leena murmur.  "It's been rolling in and out, like this, since before we were born.  It's been here for eternity, it seems...it's probably seen many things...heard many things...it'll probably keep rolling in and out, long after our lifetime, without a single change..."  
  


He looked at her, surprised at the depth with which she spoke.  As he did, he caught her gaze shifting from him, back to the sea.  Serge had to smile a little at that.  

She spoke again, brushing the red threads of hair from her forehead.  "Hey, Serge...remember we used to sit and talk like this when we were kids?  With the gentle sea breeze, and the tranquil sound of the waves?  Just the two of us...talking...do you still remember that day?"  
  
_I damn well better._

"Yeah, I remember," Serge answered openly.  "We made a promise that day:  if I ever set out into the world like our fathers did, I'd take you with me.  And we'd make it home."

Leena was blushing into a beet.  "You...do remember," she breathed, covering her mouth as a giggle broke by.  "Hee hee...that makes me... happy."  She took her hand from her lips to bare another smile, devoting her gaze completely to him.  Serge decided a little rest of his legs wouldn't be so bad, and given the time Exeter was taking, he doubted it would matter if he took a breather.  He slumped down to his knees next to Leena, laying the Sea Swallow a fair distance away, and she shifted over a bit to give him room- but, as he had both hoped and feared, not by far.

"But aren't memories strange?" she said idly, her gaze shifting back and forth from his face to the ocean's.  "Just when you think that you've forgotten about something, it comes floating back into your heart.  I guess it's just lying there in wait.  Waiting for that right moment...why, we might even remember this very moment someday!  In ten, twenty years...when we're all grown up and married, and have kids of our own..."  
  
Her shift was failing, her head a lot closer now.  Serge twisted his lip, suddenly finding his mouth dry.  This close, he could smell the fragrance of Leena's hair- it smelled like mint, almost.  And the closeness was getting more intimate than it had been before.  He felt warmth pulsing nearer as her form pushed a little closer, felt his heart do a little flip-flop as her lips parted for a sigh.  His friend was beautiful.

"Then one day...when that time comes, I wonder what kind of adults we'll be?  What kind of life will I be leading...?" Leena asked herself, bringing her arms away from her knees to hug them to her sides.  "I wonder what to make of this day...?"  
  
Serge placed his hands on his knees, lolling his head back a little to squint up at the sky.  "Don't worry so much about that," he said.  "I think we'll always remember this day, coming back to Opassa..."  
  
He almost went rigid as he felt Leena's hand rest on his.  He actually did so as her finger brushed a sore spot on his palm, and he looked down to find her cupping it in her hands.  "Serge, where did this come from?" she asked timidly.  

Serge had to swallow at the concern in her voice, the gentle way in which she held his hand almost intoxicating.  He imagined Exeter nudging him in the back, almost.  Nonetheless, he focused again, turning his gaze down to the spot Leena was touching.  There was a three-inch scar on his right palm, faded and worn, but the tissue had been ripped, and it was bleeding again.  Serge grimaced; he must have reopened it while handling Komodo pups.

"That's an...old one," he said, sighing.  "You remember when I was a kid, that panther demon that came at me in the woods?  Kicked my butt.  It...well, it scarred me up a lot."  He twisted his lip further, shrugging as he turned his gaze away.  "You probably haven't noticed, but that's why I never take my undershirt off when I swim, anymore.  But anyway, it slit my palm and gave me the scar there...kinda easy to open.  Sorry, I know you don't like blo...Leena?"  
  
He broke off.  Leena was not looking at him.  She had her eyes fixed on the reopened scar, her hand brushing over it to dab away at the blood.  Serge twitched each time she touched it, but restrained himself from gasping.  He failed, however, as she pressed her hand over the wound, interlacing her fingers with his.  All of a sudden, her head had tilted up, but now it was closer.  She looked at him, but now only had to half-close her eyes to see him.  She spoke to him, but only had to whisper.

"I'm sorry, Serge..." she murmured. "I know I can be...well...mean-spirited, a lot of the time.  But I'm always happy...you know that.  I've been happy ever since the day I met you."  
  
_Serge_.

The voice came again, whipping against his ears in the sea breeze, but Serge did not notice it.  Leena was too close for him to care about the mysterious call to him.  Her hand felt small in his, fragile and delicate, and so he squeezed it gently.  There was firmness in his, enough of a callused strength to protect the skin he held in his hand.  Leena's lips parted a little in a soft gasp, drawing closer.  Serge's throat was so dry that he felt as though the entire ocean wouldn't be able to quench the thirst in his throat.

"Serge," she whispered again, sea-scented breath washing over his lips, "there's been something I've been wanting to...tell you, for a while..."  
  
_Serge..._

This time, he could not ignore it.  Pain lanced through his head, and Serge went rigid.  _What the...?!_

"Serge?" Leena asked, her flustered face shifting to an alarmed expression.  "Serge, what's wrong?  Serge?"

"My...head, head hurts..." Serge gritted out, pulling away to clutch at his temples.  He wanted to fall back, but suddenly felt himself dragged up by some unseen force.  In shock, he was placed on his feet as though someone had yanked him forward, and he stumbled on the sand, grabbing at his temples.  "Someth...something's happening, I can't-"

He stopped, cut off by a sharp whine around his ears, and then a voice spoke again.  But this time, instead of the carefree, innocent voice of a young girl, it was a coarse, unfeeling voice with a crisp accent.

I was coming for you.  I was coming for your life.  I had you in my fangs, little boy.  I tasted your blood.  I felt you scream like a schoolgirl, squeal like a stuck pig as my claws hacked into your ribs.  I remember you crying pathetically as I cut your palm.  The mark of death was on you.  Your mother was screaming, Leena was wailing as you began to die- and they were both so helpless, as I tossed you about by the head in my jaws.  I was so, so close...and you eluded me.  Through luck or wretched divine blessing, you escaped my bite.  You lived, after I had strived so badly to kill you.  You defied time.

_So now, here we are, at this spot again...just a few years later.  It's time, Serge.  Because you couldn't die, because you wouldn't let FATE wipe you away...I'll just have to use you.  Come to me, Serge._

_Come to me, Chrono Trigger._

With each word, Serge felt like a nail was being pounded into his temples.  He gritted his teeth, fighting back a moan as he slowly began to fall to his knees again.  A haze fell upon him.  He heard Leena shout for him, felt Exeter's grip on his shoulder, and yet was totally detached from it.  The voice left him, the whine dissipating to be replaced by the roar of something tremendous, something churning and approaching and terrible.

  
Serge looked ahead of him through tearing vision, and found a _wall_ of water flushing from the sea, towards the beach.  He panicked, realizing death was coming at him, realizing he was seventeen and about to die after having survived so much beforehand.  But before his thought could finish, everything seemed to go black around him, as if the sun had suddenly winked out.  The sand warped beneath his feet, and he felt himself sinking as the wave disappeared in a rippling black void.  He watched in horror as he was swallowed up into the sand, into a world of black and nothingness.  And then, as the last remainders of Opassa Beach flitted away into a dark tempest, he felt the pain rumble away.

And then he was staring at a pair of panther eyes.

I'm dying.  I'm going to Hell...

It was his last thought before light seemed to flow up over him again, and then, before it could complete, he let the darkness of a tortured sleep claim him.


	4. Dream of the Shore

Thanks for the votes of confidence, all ye who read.  XD  I do get some bad potshots taken for a premise like this, but I'm happy to see most of my readers are enjoying it.  I hope I can keep your hopes up and fulfill them.  That said… Chapter III :: Dream of the Shore 

_Viper Manor, El Nido 02, 1020 A.D._

_My dearest Wayne,_

I hope this letter finds you in good health.  I worry about you, old friend; your coughing did not sound as though it had improved, when last I saw you.  You work too hard, simply, and I daresay I should have none of that elemental mixing business.  Black and White, that cannot be proper for good health.  With all those demihumans in Guldove, I shudder to think of what diseases you could catch.  I am sorry to say so, I harbor no ill will towards them...

_I am sure that must sound ominous, and you would not be half right.  Daddy's guests are demihumans, too.  I've only seen them from afar, as they just arrived two morns ago, and there is so little I know of them, except from their looks.  I know two are women, two are men, and one is the most curious little thing.  She looks a little younger than I, perhaps no more than 17- of no age to bare her legs, yet she cavorts around in the strangest jester getup with her legs in...well, in viewable nature.  It is embarrassing, especially since she looks nothing like a demihuman.  I thought she was a human until Daddy told me otherwise.  But she is of no worry.  I believe she is quite polite, actually.  It is the other three that disturb me the most, however...the other woman I believe is of- and do not let this worry you- Mystic descent.  Dark blue hair, powder blue skin, and dark red eyes.  Luna Aurore, I believe is her name.  The other two I do not know of- and I fear I shall have to.  They are the most unsightly things I have ever seen.  This great dragon man, towering over me, and that last one..._

_For Emblem's sake, I am sorry for rambling.  I must sound so weak and intimidated.  Part of me wishes to destroy this letter and start anew, but I have no time, I fear.  Daddy will want me to meet with these four...what an experience that will be.  But, do not worry, my old friend.  Though Karsh has been sent somewhere today, I have Glenn with me.  He would never allow anything to harm me.  Anything.  He is like his brother...oh, heavens...I've knocked over my glass of water.  Forgive the drops there, I was simply remiss.  I know what you're thinking, and it's not true.  I have shed my tears for Dario.  I am well now.  As I was saying, Glenn is the most I could ask for.  Perhaps one day he will rival his father and brother in the way of the sword, now that they are gone- I daresay he may even surpass my father, or the legendary hero for whom he is named.  I do wish he would straighten himself up, though.  He is trying to grow up too quickly._

_Do write me back.  I wish to know all about your new position as Dragon Knight of Guldove- I am sure Steena is well pleased with you.  In all honesty, I think she'd be the perfect wife for you- and don't you roll your eyes at that, Sir Wayne!  When it is time for her to become the Shrine Maiden, I can think of no other suited enough to be her knight.  At least promise you will consider it, would you?  I'd be ever so happy to see two childhood friends united in matrimony._

_Oh, dear.  I'll have to go into more detail when I next write you- I must be off now.  Take care, old friend- may the Six Dragons bless you, and light your ways._

_Forever yours,_

_                Riddel_

She had just finished writing the letter when the knock came at her door again.  Sighing, Riddel put down the feather pen, and turned in her seat to face the large oak door.  "You may come in."

The doorknob creaked, and in stepped the towering figure in black that was her father.  Immense and crowned with balding but dazzling silver hair, General Viper struck an imposing figure, especially in the darkness of Viper Manor's eternally dismal atmosphere.  He was just over six foot, eight inches tall and built solidly through years of intense swordsmanship.  Eyes that glinted with wine red, a wizened face with a trimmed white beard and as many scars as there were wrinkles...there were many features of him that Riddel recognized, from childhood and from portraits.  He stood regally and regarded his daughter with a chiding gaze. 

"Riddel, you have shackled yourself up in here all afternoon," Viper rumbled.  "Surely you are able to come and dine with our guests, no?"

"I know.  I'm sorry, Daddy."  Riddel smiled, but looked at her father with saddened eyes; she was able to recall times when he had no need for that dreadful black robe of armor he wore around him.  The war with Porre had brought it back, though, and now her father was no longer "Daddy"- he was General Viper.

I hate you so much for it, sometimes...

Her eyes flickered to the large mirror at the corner of her bed chambers.  The room itself, which had seemed light and grand to her before, now seemed dwarfed by her father's incredible size.  But the mirror in its corner was not totally incapable of displaying the two of them.  She saw their reflections, and fought a wince- they both were such contrasts to each other.  The only resemblance in either was in the eyes, dark and red.  While her father was towering in midnight-hued clothes and muscle, Riddel was anything but- a slender girl of modest height and simple bearing, with shimmering, almost purple hair.  She sat in her ornate chair, making her seem even smaller compared to her father, and wore a sea green dress with long sleeves and a thin skirt, which at times tended to obstruct her movement; she only wore it because it was a warm spring in El Nido.  And, unlike her father, she wore the tiara that symbolized her nobility as the Lady of Viper Manor.

_The shackle, the chain_, she reminded herself glumly.  _It feels so heavy on my head...poor Mother.  How long did she have to put up with this?_

Viper showed no sign of worry, chuckling deeply as his towering figure strode over to her desk.  "Well, I am certain you have good enough reason for it- at least, good enough for others your young age," he said.  His solid fist came down to rest on her workdesk, and he stared down at the freshly-inked parchment there.  "What's this?  A letter?"  
  
Riddel moved to intercept it, but her father's hand swept the letter up with speed that belied the strength in its contours.  Viper's brow furrowed as he began to read, murmuring aloud.  "'My dearest Wayn'- oh, come _off_ it, Riddel."

  
Her lip twisted, and she rose from her seat to grab the letter from his hand.  He allowed it- she knew if he had not, the parchment would have been torn in two.  "He's my friend, Father.  You can't take that from me, too."  
  
His head shook from side to side.  "That child-"  
  
"He's 23."  
  
"And you, my young daughter, are barely a year older.  That makes you both children," Viper scoffed.  "Tell me you're not sending love letters to that Guldove knight anymore.  Religion makes a rich enemy and a poor ally- you'd do best to stay away from it, Riddel."

Riddel curled her lip, her eyes flashing with hurt.  Were that all fathers this blind about their daughters, perhaps she would have a few more friends.  "Love letters?  They were never love letters, Father.  Back when you still let me off the island, he and Steena were my best friends, after Karsh and Glenn..."  
  
"And Dario?"

Riddel felt cold settle on her back, and burning in her chest.  She felt ill.  "...you speak of the dead with such frankness," she murmured quietly, shaking her head, and rested the parchment on her desk.  "Were he still alive, yes, I would have mentioned him.  But he is not.  So I do not include him, anymore."  
  
Her father was quiet for a moment.  "...well, I've learned to accept the fact that I will never be able to understand why you act the way you do," he said at last.  She heard his coat flutter as he turned.  "I will not prevent you from sending the letter."

Just like him, to shrug off Dario.  Riddel felt sicker.  "Thank you," she lied.

"Yes, well..." Viper replied, letting that line of conversation die.  "Will you come out to at least greet our guests?"  
  
Riddel folded the parchment in two, but fiddled with the bent corners for a moment.  "Hmm.  Choices, choices," she murmured, icing her words with sarcasm.  "I will go meet them.  Is Glenn there, too?"

"He has been guarding your seat for the past hour and a half, my dear."  
  
She winced at the affection in his voice, for it sounded genuine, and that meant he was telling the truth.  Riddel thought of Glenn standing there, arms crossed and with a leg probably sidled over the other as he leaned on a wall, behind a seat that was yet to be filled.  Armored, probably, armed with his steel sword and with that old bandana of his keeping his shady blonde locks out of his eyes.  A smile and a frown fought for supremacy on her; there were few friends that loyal, and many people who failed to return it.  Riddel feared she belonged to the latter group.

_Am I really at fault, though?_ she pondered.  Loyalty was a child of courage, and therefore required courage to exist.  Riddel knew, all too well, that courage was a virtue she lacked.  As her father had drifted from her these past few months- rambling too often about how "the Flame" was going to wipe the Porre from the shores- her best friends in the ranks of the Acacia Dragoons were sent out on more and more strange missions.  Glenn himself had been sent pirate-hunting against that dread pillager of the high seas, Fargo, and that alone was enough to bring her fear.  And now, just the evening prior, faithful Karsh had been dispatched with a group of four to Cape Howl, at the other end of the continent- on a "ghost hunt."  Riddel had felt so afraid without them, at times; just recently, the guards had slacked, and the manor halls at times boasted creatures in the shadow.  Riddel was not allowed to leave her room after sunset.

Somehow, she knew it was all connected with that beastly man.  Riddel shivered when she thought of him.  Just two mornings he had been here, but she knew he had been in contact with her father for much longer than then.  He'd been...telling things, to her father.  She knew it.  The letters that had interrupted her lunches with him, the sounds of accompanied laughter coming from his chamber in the middle of the night- all of it came from that man.  The demihuman, and his accomplices.  Riddel looked at the parchment, and reminded herself why she did not know his name- she did not want to.  

He frightened her.  Terribly.

Nevertheless, Riddel slowly nodded.  She would not leave Glenn to be in that stranger's company without her there; even if she was feeling craven, she was a Lady.  "I will come," she said.  "I must comb my hair, though."

Her father nodded.  "Freshen up, then.  We have a grand feast prepared for our fine ally.  I trust you will look your best for Sir Lynx."

_Lynx_.  The name knifed into her spine, and Riddel felt a pang there that added a physical counterpoint to the icy lump forming in her stomach.  That was his name; the cold, sharp raspy sound that could only belong to a beast, a cat...a panther demon.  She knew better than to believe in such things, but that was what he looked like, and that was what she was sure he was.

"I will," she said, her voice wavering.  "I shall wear my best gown."

Her father left her with deep footsteps, closing the heavy oak door with a brief tug of his mighty hand.  "Do hurry," he mumbled from outside, and she heard him depart down the hall.

When he was gone, Riddel slumped back into her seat.  The tiara felt heavier on her head, so she removed it; as she did so, she found that upon the desk, there was her old childhood doll.  It was a frog, hand-woven by her late mother, with beaded eyes and a little strip over the head and back.  It had the spread-eagled form that all dolls tended to share, and was stuffed enough to where years of cuddling it had not worn its edges.  Riddel and it had been inseparable when she was younger.  She was the princess, it was the prince that was cursed to live as a frog until true love's kiss set it free.  So many times she had played out the old fairy tale, waiting for it to take its true form.  For it to respond, for it to become someone who would care for her, and comfort her, and keep her safe from all the fears of the world.

She picked it up, feebly, and hugged it to her chest.  _Make it all better again...someone make the world better.  Please..._

------------

First there was pain, then there was salt.

Serge felt a cold dampness on his lips, mixed with salt.  It shut out the pain in his temples for all of a moment, but the throbbing was soon there again.  He winced, feeling a tingle wash through his back- few things made a man more miserable than a nasty headache.  He cracked an eyelid open, and stared down at a sparkling sheet of seawater.  Fluttering his sand-crusted eyelashes, he assembled the details quickly- he was still on Opassa Beach.  Face-down, in the sand, by the incoming tide; from the bright shine of the sun and the heat on his broiled back, he knew he had at least been unconscious for half an hour.  He felt a weight on his ankle, and when he gave his leg a shift, Serge realized it was his Swallow.  

He wanted to rise, but found he had no strength.  He could only lay there, staring at the water, and coughed as it washed over his parched lips again.

What happened?  I was talking with Leena for a moment, then that pain, and that...voice...crushing my mind...felt like I was falling, like somebody was using an element on me...

Serge knew of no element, though, that could put a voice in one's head.  

He swallowed, and regretted it instantly- seawater was not something to imbibe regularly.  As his muscles eased out of migraine-induced numbness, Serge managed to roll over onto his back, away from the tide.  The motion made his head ache even worse, and he felt the Sea Swallow's edge scratch his shin.  He felt _awful_- like someone had thrown a beached whale on him.  Actually, he wished he felt half as good as that.  He literally felt no strength left in his muscles.

"Lee...Leena...?" he breathed, cringing as the pain of the scratch began to settle in.  "Exe...Ex?  Anyo...one..."

"Well.  I hope I didn't look that bad when I crashed here."

The voice was entirely new to him.  Serge at first did not say anything- he simply remained sprawled there, totally still, as if to make sure he had heard the voice.  When he realized he had, he turned his head very weakly in the direction of it, to his left- where Leena and he had been sitting.  She was not there, and neither was Exeter.  Instead, Serge found a total stranger seated there- a young man, maybe a couple years older than him, clothed in black.  Details formed in Serge's vision, after he squinted to keep the sun from his eyes:  long black hair, eagle-sharp green eyes, a boyish face and a lithe build, a long black cloak lined with maroon, and black garb underneath it.  Everything about him was black, except two things he boasted: the glittering purple ring on his right hand, and the white-hilted katana that rested on his shoulder in a dark sheath.

A swordsman...

He leaned on the coral rock, one leg bent up with the other bent on the ground, and watched Serge with flickering eyelashes.  It was only then that Serge's eyes met his, and there was a second there in which neither spoke.  They stared at each other, like two members of different species meeting for the first time.  Neither blinked.

"Your eyes...you're...a mainlander?" Serge whispered.  _Where did he come from?  Have I been out that long?_

The other's lip twisted up into a half-smirk.  "You could say I'm from the mainland, yes," he said.  "I came here looking for you...Serge, isn't it?  Serge of Arni, son of Wazuki and Margaret.  The Arbiter.  At last, face-to-face...I've wanted to see behind your eyes for a long time."

Serge's eyelids fell to a squint.  Questions bubbled to mind all through the man's words, but there was only one he could manage.  "Why are you...calling me a judg-"  He thought better of his comment, as he realized something much more drastic was amiss. "Ex...Exeter, Leena?  Wh..." he wheezed, stopping only to let another cringe run through him.  "Where are they?"  
  
The man did not answer at first, and simply kept his vision on Serge.  There was a tenderness in the other's eyes, but far from friendly.  It was as though he were looking upon Serge with sympathy.  "Your friends are all right," he told Serge.  "Your friend Exeter fell unconscious as well, 'Arbiter'.  I'm sure he'll wake soon, though- anger overcomes weariness with great speed."  
  
_Anger?  Exeter?_

"Leena is...elsewhere," the other continued.  There was something in his voice, though, that suggested "elsewhere" was not a stone's throw.

Serge found a little strength, and rolled over a little more until he could see the man without having to turn his head.  The Swallow bit deeper into his calf, winning a prompt wince from his sand-crusted face that bit even further as his muscles howled with protest.  "Did...just what happened...?  You said...you crashed, here?"

"Again, you could say that," the man said, resting the back of his head on an outcropping of coral, wet and dark from the seawater.  "But, I can't tell you what happened.  There is no term for what has just been placed upon your shoulders, and what has taken you by them at the same time to bring you here."  His smirk completed.  "You're in a pretty bad spot.  But, as fortune favors, everyone else is in it with you."

Serge furrowed his brow, feeling insulted.  "You'd think some people," he said, regaining a little strength, "would have more sympathy...for a guy that just felt himself ripped in two..."

The man snorted, bringing his head up from the damp coral.  "Tell me, how can a cripple feel sorry for a boy who fell down and scraped his knee?  I've been where you are, Arbiter."  
  
"And just where is...aagh!" Serge cut off to lean over and clutch at his leg.  The Swallow's fine bone edge had done a careful job of raking his calf.  "Just where is here?  I just blacked out, I'm at the same pla..."

The man did not answer immediately.  He pressed the katana sheath's edge into the sand, and hefted himself up with it.  Serge craned his head up a little to look at the man- he wasn't completely towering, but reached six feet quite easily.  He drew the weapon into his cloak, and offered Serge a smile that was all but wistful.  Dreamy, yet mirthless.  It disturbed Serge, the way the other was looking at him.

"_Angelus Errare_," was all the man said.  "Let me speak a moment, Arbiter; my time is rather short."  Serge watched helplessly as the man half-shut his eyelids, and spoke.  "You remember what happened on this same beach, only so long ago.  You nearly died at the claws of a panther demon.  You should give wonder, though, as to why it did not claim your life...for in this world of dreams, you were never meant to be conjured.  That is the nature of your own existence, Arbiter...you are a lost nightmare."  
  
"Lost...nightmare?" Serge repeated, the term vague to him.  But then, so was everything this man was telling him.  The memory of the panther demon was still vivid in his mind, and that voice that had plunged into his head just before he'd blacked out seemed to prove such.  Remembering those eyes, cold and green with black slits down the center, narrowing as they came at him, and then coupling that with the ominous rasp of those chilling words before unconsciousness...it was madness.

Serge shook the darker thoughts away.  "Why are you...telling me these things?"

Ebony locks rippled as the breeze from a wave caught the man's hair.  "I speak only to one of my kind.  You, like me, are an 'angel' that has lost its way...or not so much an 'angel' as simply lost.  Your path starts here, at this very spot, and it will end here, Arbiter.  Remember that, and you may see me again.  For now, though, I will have to forego a proper talk with you..."  He turned his back upon Serge, then, and drew the dark cloak under an arm as he walked gracefully over the sands towards Lizard Rock.  "Welcome back home.  Remember my words, and you may not be so lonely."

Serge forced himself to his bloody knee, digging his palms into the sand to hold himself up.  "Wai-wait!  Why were you here, with me?  Who..._are_ you?"  
  
The man stopped in his tracks, but did not turn.  Serge saw him shake, as though with a single chuckle.  "For now, think of me as Nameless," he said, the clash of a wave behind Serge adding to the depth in which the other spoke.  "Find her, and I'll tell you who I am, and why I'm here.  That shouldn't be too hard for you."

"Her...?" Serge repeated, feeling even more lost.  "You mean Leena?  Wait...please, tell me, what are you talking about?"  
  
The Nameless said nothing, already walking away.  As his feet trudged elegantly over the sand, Serge struggled to follow him; the identity of the Nameless, coupled with what had just happened to him, sent a literal dozen questions into his head, mostly comprised of what was going on and what it all meant.  He pushed his hands against the sand, but could not bring himself to even kneel.  There was simply too much drained out of him.

But he said 'her'...he knows where Leena is.  He's got to...damn it, why can't I move!?  What's happening to me today...?

A few seconds passed, in which the sound of the Nameless's footsteps faded as he disappeared behind the large coral wall that defined Opassa Beach's entrance and exit.  It wasn't until he was gone that Serge realized that his palm had been throbbing since he'd awakened.  Looking at it, he saw the panther-inflicted scar was bleeding again, and in such a way that Serge recoiled at a glance.  It hadn't just been bleeding- it had been swelling, to a point where the rim was fit to burst.  Serge tightened the hand into a fist, feeling the swelling go down as the Nameless departed, and with disoriented azure eyes, he looked at the path where the swordsman had been just a minute before.

"What the...?" Serge mumbled, trailing off as his eyes settled.  There was something...not right about the entrance to the beach.  Usually he'd think of it almost instantly, but through the daze he had been put in, he was left struggling for possibilities.  It wasn't something added in- it was something that was missing.  There was another slab of coral there, a giant puff of red rock that should not have been there.  There should have been a-

It dawned on him.  _The palm tree.  The palm tree that's been there for nine years...it's gone?_

"Uuunhh...Serge?"

Exeter's voice instilled a little more strength in Serge.  His muscles tightened again, and he managed to get to one knee- at least one thing he recognized was still around.  "Ye-yeah...I'm over here, Ex.  Are you all right?"

It was answered almost immediately.  From behind the great slab that was decorated with barnacles and seaweed and seashells, Exeter's familiar cloaked frame stumbled out.  His movements were torpid, but he was fully erect, dragging his tachi behind him in one hand with the other clapped to his forehead.  He looked much the way Serge thought he did- rumpled clothes, wild hair, sand crusted all over, and somewhat damp from the spray of the waves.  As his glazed eyes found Serge's, Exeter turned it to a frown and brushed away the wild blonde locks that covered his eyebrows.  

"What...happened, there?" Exeter mumbled to him, tugging on his single black bang.  "I was over by the tree, and then it felt like someone was trying to tear me apart..."  
  
Serge had finally gathered enough equilibrium to grab his Swallow again.  Digging its sharper tip into the sand, he pulled himself up, leaning heavily upon its crooked frame.  "I...have no idea..."  With great difficulty he pulled his head up, frowning groggily.  Exeter hadn't commented on the Nameless's appearance-  though judging by his appearance, Serge was willing to bet Exeter had been unconscious all through the mystery man's talk.  As he braced himself on both feet, Serge lolled his head back and let the splash from a wave send sprinkles over his overheated back.  It cleared his head a little, to where he was able to speak again.

"Leena...where's Leena?" he asked, stretching.  "Did you see her anywhere?"  
  
Exeter shook his head, squinting as he looked around the beach.  "Wasn't she with you?  I was off behind that tree..."  The realization of the tree's absence struck him too, as was apparent by the sudden flash over his eyes.  "Hey...what happened to it?"

Serge mirrored the shake.  "It's gone...I think somebody may have come along and cast a dark element on us, or something."

Exeter craned his head up, squinting further to stare up at the sun.  "No...that's the midday sun, and...yeah, we got here around noon," he managed, turning his gaze from it to rub at a pang in his neck.  "For someone or something to do all that, and somehow cut down and uproot a whole tree...well, it sounds pretty stupid, doesn't it?"  
  
"I guess...maybe Leena ran for help," Serge mused with a wince.  "She doesn't know how to use the Elements yet."

Exeter nodded at that, helplessly.  Serge had to scoff at the whole thing; it was a Leena thing to do, run for help if the both of them were unconscious.  The girl simply had no idea how to use the Elements at her disposal, which, in a way, wasn't something to be ashamed of.  The Elements were primarily for uses in battle and healing, but Serge had seen them used in cooking and construction and all manner of everyday life.  To call upon the Elements, one needed to fully bond to his or her innate power, tested at birth, and then use it to call up the Elements through talismans.  They were little jewels, usually, store-bought or found, and most weapons- including Serge's Swallow- had been forged with the intent of locking in the jewels for easier use.

_But, try doing that with a frying pan._  Serge fought back the urge to groan- if Leena weren't so timid about using her innate, maybe she'd have roused them sooner.

"Well, if she's run for help, I guess we ought to be getting back," Exeter said.  "Besides, I think a good shot of fresh water is due...the last ten minutes, I haven't had the strength to move."

_Ten minutes?_  Serge froze, his gaze turning sharp.  "You were awake for ten minutes?"

"Yeah.  I mean, I was half-conscious and I couldn't talk without hurting, but I was awake," Exeter told him, looking confused.  "Why?"  
  
Serge looked for a moment to where the Nameless had been sitting, to the coral where his head had leaned upon.  There was not a crease anywhere upon the sand, and the coral was still dark from the seabreeze, nowhere near dried from the man's raven hair.  Yet he swore he had seen the Nameless leave footsteps over the beach, heard the clatter of his boots upon rock as he left Opassa.  Serge frowned; to be awake for ten minutes, and not hear any of that- not hear any of his words, or the Nameless's...

_A mirage.  A hallucination...a lingering dream.  But, why did I imagine all that?_

"N-no reason," Serge told him.  "You didn't hear anything when you woke up, did you?"  
  
Exeter's eyes flashed to the ground in thought, then back to Serge.  "When I woke up, I heard the waves and the seagulls cawing...and, well, nothing other from the usual voices in my head," he said, trying to alleviate the dreariness with a grin.  

Serge laughed a little, but stayed on the point.  "Hah...and what did those voices say, anyway?"  
  
"Oh, you know...'Exeter, does this thong seem too tiny?' and 'Exeter, you are so hot!' and 'Exeter, you have just won a free trip to Miki's backstage rumpus room!'"  The blonde swordsman gave him a wink.  "Just that.  Though if you're actually wondering whether or not I heard voices, I did hear something like mumbling...it sounded like like you were talking in your sleep."

"Me?"  Serge raised a brow.  "Well...what did I say?"  
  
Exeter shrugged helplessly.  "I'm not so sure...it sounded like you were talking to somebody else.  Did you have a dream?"  
  
"You could say that," Serge said, and reached up to tug his bandana forward a little.  "Black dreams...ever dreamed up someone you had never even seen an inkling of, before?"  
  
Exeter smiled as though he meant to share an exceptionally funny joke.  "I've dreamed up quite a few strangers, Serge."

"Hah!"  Serge managed a light laugh, and was pleased to find the pain did not start up again when he did so.  "Mine was a little different, I would think.  But, anyway, you have a point- let's go let Leena know we're all right.  I'll tell you about my dream along the way."

Exeter nodded, already bringing up his great tachi to rest over his shoulder.  "Lizard Rock shouldn't be much trouble on the way back, in our states.  Most of our scaly friends should be sleeping at this time of day.  You okay to go?"  
  
Serge gave a tight swallow, nodding the affirmative.  "I'm fine...I'll be better when I know that Leena's all right."

They shared another nod, then turned towards the path that would lead them out of Opassa Beach.  Serge noticed, though, that as they proceeded, the coral was even more abundant than it had been before.  The lack of the long palm tree and the presence of the dark crimson stone was enough to perturb him, but there was an even greater sense that something was amiss over all of it.  As he trudged over the sand, there was a different feel to it, as though it were a foreign soil.  Cramped and dark, the sand no longer gave the luster that was familiar to him.

Serge felt a warm tingle trickle down his calf, followed by a sting.  The accidental cut from his Swallow seemed to burn much more painfully at that acknowledgement, and as he trekked forward to the bleached stones of Lizard Rock with Exeter, he watched the blood fall to the sand.  Watched it sizzle a moment, and then sink into the ground-

_What the...?_

When it struck the ground, the blood disappeared.  There was no stain, no trace that it had ever dropped there.  As though it were transparent.  Serge looked over in alarm to Exeter, but the other had not noticed.  That only added to his worries, for suddenly, Serge felt ultimately out of place.  

Find "her".  Leena...I'll meet up with her, and we'll all be all right, and this will just be another weird day.

-------------

What an awful day.

The flint stone ran easily down the length of the steel blade, and was finely toned enough to where it did not give off sparks.  With the weapon propped over his knee, though, Glenn was giving it a very rough drive along the blood channel- more than was needed.  A sword displayed the attitude of its bearer, though, and Glenn was in a foul one.  The young dragoon perched with his weapon upon the bed in the corner of his room, usually a calm spot, but on this sunny afternoon, he saw nothing but storm clouds.

It had been an awful, awful day.

None in the Viper Manor barracks- which was where his "room" was- gave him a look.  Drifting about in their standard white-and-gray uniforms, occasionally stopping at the bright green prism beside the door to the barracks, they were aware of his bad mood.  He knew that; despite their eyes' aversion, their tongues still flapped in hushed tones.  Most of it was directed at him, and what had happened at the banquet General Viper had hosted earlier.

Glenn said nothing to any of it, and simply continued to run the flint stone down his sword's curved edge.  Never mind what he'd done at the dinner- as far as he was concerned, that bastard draconian deserved such cold words.  Then again, so did he, from General Viper's own mouth.  Why he reacted so badly to it, Glenn did not know...

Because he thinks he's my father.  He thinks...he thinks that because my father, my mother, and my brother were all his friends, that I would be the same.

He came across a stain on the edge of his sword, and sighed.  That damn beast had stained mythril silver with his foul wine- mythril silver!  A sword of such high quality would run at ten, fifteen thousand gold pieces in Master Zappa's forgery, and now it had alcohol splattered over it.  Glenn gnashed his teeth over his lower lip, setting down the flint stone to look for some sort of cloth.  There was none, save for his blanket.  He growled; nothing was going right today.

There was a knock at the far door, and briefly Glenn turned his emerald-hued eyes to face it.  When one of the dragoon soldiers ventured over to it, he turned his gaze back to his sword.  Probably General Viper, come back to scold him for what had happened at dinner.  Suddenly, he wanted to take a nap.

Ah...had this happened a few years ago, Dario would flash that smile to the General and all fears would be allayed.  Brother had that sway over Viper.  Damn him for dying.

Dying.  Glenn felt his lips part in a chuckle, and his eyes drifted over to the unoccupied standard bed across from his.  Identical to his in every way- plain and springy, with only one small pillow.  But, there were two things that did not match:  the thin white blanket woven of silk, and the mirror which hung on the wall above the bed.  There was a simplicity about it, but the tokens added a hallowed feel to the bed whenever he looked at it.  An oval mirror, rimmed in gold, coupled with a white silk blanket.  In the moment that he looked there, Glenn remembered a hundred instances where he had turned over in the night to gaze at it, as he had when he was a youth in Master Zappa's back room.

Dario used to sleep there.  Just like when they were younger, they had been given double beds when they came of age to join the Acacia Dragoons.  A faint smile tugged at Glenn's lips; when he was still alive, Dario had often turned over in that bed and whispered over to him as the rest of the trainees slept.  Comments about Karsh's hair all came up, a favorite topic of theirs- their friend was crowned with a long purple mane that had gone through hairstyles on a bi-monthly basis.  Glenn had tried not to laugh at such instances.  Then there were the serious talks:  dreams.  Glenn and his brother had shared so many talks of the things, enough to where it was a regular topic of conversation.

He always wanted to have a farm, somewhere.  He always wanted to separate from Viper and all the others when he was a little older, when the Porre army was driven back, and just cultivate the soil.   He loved the land.  And her.

Glenn raised his head a little higher, from where the bed rested.  The mirror was a keepsake of their father, Garai.  He had been a towering man of silver hair, armor, and blade- the finest of the Acacia Dragoons.  A hero in a time where heroes had been needed; the ten years earlier in which the Porre army had tried unsuccessfully to claim both Guardia and Acacia at the same time.  They had succeeded in the first, but utterly failed in the second, thanks only to Garai's blade.  Glenn had no idea where the mirror had come from, but he knew his father had always been fond of it.

He looked at himself in it, and thought of Dario again.  He could see his brother in himself, in a way- and he liked that.  They were very alike.  Both of them had the same eye color, the same overall lithe and supple build.  There were a few differences, though, that were more apparent in Glenn than in Dario; Glenn had darker, wilder blonde hair, now tied up by a white bandana, and his skin was a little more tan.  He was shorter, only some 5'9", and his armor was light, bronze, and black.  Dario had always worn heavy steel armor and a green cape, and had never worn a buckler shield on his left arm, as Glenn did.  Dario's specialty was with single blade techniques, but Glenn had trained in both one- and two-sword styles.

Glenn found the cross scar on his cheek, and his head fell.  _Actually, we weren't so alike.  He had his looks, I had mine.  His specialties were not my own.  Our dreams...we only had one trait that was in common.  That was..._

"Are you all right, Glenn?"

Riddel's voice.  Glenn shut his eyes; fate was such a drama queen.

She stood in the center of the barracks, just a little space away from him.  Glenn realized it had been her that had knocked at the door, and thanked the stars he hadn't been in the mood to answer it.  He found the other dragoons backing away, taking their glances with great reluctance from the Lady of Viper Manor.  He had to smirk at that; tearing their eyes away from a woman each of them wanted to have, but had none of the courage to go after.  What great examples of men they were.  

Hypocrite.

He ignored the voice, and kept his eyes on Riddel.  She looked at him in a tentative manner now, her deep gaze now timid and concerned.  She still wore the sea green gown she had donned for that ill-fated banquet just an hour prior.  Her own dark hair was still tied with that hairband Dario had given her, her lips pink in contrast to the purple lipstick she had put on for the dinner.  Her hands were folded in front of her stomach, as though waiting on his answer.  Her eyes were swollen, as though from crying.  Bloody hell, he hated that look.  He hated her eyes.

_They're always filled with Dario_.

Glenn put the curved edge of his sword into the sheath, and slid it forward until it clicked.  One did not show weapons to the Lady, but he let that motion double as her answer.

Riddel's lip twisted, and she came forward with a slow step.  "I'm sorry for what happened," she offered softly.  "I know you had the best of inten-"  
  
"Forgive me for interrupting with a curse, my Lady," Glenn said, just as quietly, "but if that animal insults your integrity again, I will flog him with his own tail."

She smiled, but he did not.  "I also have to thank you," Riddel said, her next step a little quicker.  "You're always the one to stand up for me...I suppose I should show you how much I appreciate that, more often."  
  
He was tempted to say it, but kept his face neutral.  "No, my Lady," he said, rising for her, and then dropping back to a kneel with the sword in front of him.  "You haven't thanked me often because I've done nothing worth thanking."  
  
He could just see the look of confusion that passed over her face.  "What are you talking about?" she murmured.  "And get up, please- we're friends, Glenn.  Don't look at me like a queen..."  
  
Glenn gave a sigh, and rose from the kneel.  He was very sorry he had done that, yet he had no idea why he bent the knee all of a sudden.  Maybe to humble himself a little before her, or quell the anger that throbbed on his cheek.  "...forgive me," he said, staring at her.  "I only meant to apologize for earlier.  I had no right to yell at Sir Draco in front of you, much less challenge his authority.  I realize now that he is our guest, regardless of whatever views he has that I consider very nearsighted and boorish.  He was right to throw his drink at me.  I ask your forgiveness."  
  
"You haven't heard one word I've said," Riddel mumbled, her face turning from him.  "I'm not the one who's angry with you.  Daddy is."  
  
"And I apologize to his whole family," Glenn told her.  "That outburst was unlike me.  I apologize if it contributed to your discomfort..."  
  
Riddel did not look at him still.  He felt ill at that aversion, and considered letting his equilibrium fade, letting his head bang against the brick wall of the barracks.  By the Emblem, he was being so, so _stupid_ today.  All this morose brooding, the crass thoughts and pain that kept him up at night...he wasn't supposed to act this way.  He was a swordsman- no swordsman ever let his composure break like that.  There was no reason for his attitude, these past few days.

Except, maybe, those instances when it peaked.  When he made eye contact with those four demihumans that had arrived, especially their leader.  That nightmarish, dark beast...

Lynx is his name.  Lynx, the ambassador from Porre, and his guests- Luna Aurore, the veiled Lady of Medina; Harle, Lynx's right hand- or paw, hah- jester girl, very flirty; and then, of course, the charming Senfara Draco, giant draconian snob.  All of them...my gods, something about their eyes...

His musings ended when he saw Riddel standing closer to him.  She had her hands folded in front of her still, gazing down at the bed that would never be slept in again.  He saw her face in the mirror, saw the slight quiver of her lower lip, and the crimson throb in her eyelids.  Mental images of the four demihuman visitors departed from his mind, now thinking only of her; she looked so delicate in that mirror.  Her expression downcast, one shock of purple-tinted hair hanging over her creamy forehead, her petite form elegant even with her hung head.  Though four years his senior, Riddel was still shorter than him, not the least bit changed from a few years prior.

Glenn looked at the silk sheet over Dario's bed.  Well...perhaps more than a little changed.

"Discomfort?" she whispered.  "You...Karsh...you're the only ones I feel safe with anymore..."  
  
He imagined his arm around her shoulders, and that brightened him a little.  But then it turned into an image of that arm around her waist, and that gave way to thoughts of both arms around them, and tugging on those slim hips, and turning her face up to his.  He fought back a flush of embarrassment, turning it to one of anger.  Directing anger towards the self was the best way to kill such thoughts, he had learned.  It did not bother him and it did not hurt him, but it always ended in the name that he now spoke.  "Riddel..."  
  
She turned her head up a little, looking at him through the mirror.  He looked at her apologetically, and continued.  "I'm sorry.  I'm used to having Karsh around to knock sense into me when I am angry..."  Glenn gave her a sheepish smile, which he knew she liked to see.  "I'm...I'm not mad.  I just worry about you."

Riddel finally smiled, though he saw a crystal drop rain from her eye to the silk sheet.  She shifted to let her hand rest on her forearm, hugging it to her side.  "If you worry about me so greatly...why do you not show it?" she asked gently, shutting her eyes.  
  
Glenn wished for a moment that his room actually _were_ a room.  The dragoons were leaning forward a little in their beds, looking out of the corner of their eyes.  Checking to make sure Riddel's eyes were still closed, Glenn shot them a look and slowly raised the arm that held his sword.  The dragoons summarily looked away, glancing back to the Record of Fate hovering over in the corner.  

"...I would not know how to show it," Glenn continued, keeping his voice low.

Riddel opened her eyes again, and turned her head a little to look over her shoulder to him.  "Take me somewhere.  Take me out of the manor, into Termina or somewhere...let's revisit your father and brother's graves, just for a while."  
  
_I HATE THEM BOTH!_

The mental outburst widened his eyes, and he almost stumbled from the shock.  Riddel caught it, her brow furrowing in alarm.  "If...if that's all right with you," she uttered gently.

"Of- of course..."  Glenn nodded his head, forcing a smile, yet within his mind there was complete amazement.  Why in the Six Dragon Gods had he thought that?  He didn't hate his family.  "I'm sorry about that, I just felt that...tingle, that you get down the back of your spine, sometimes."  He brought himself up a little more, forcing himself to calm his mind.  "I...would love to."  
  
Riddel regarded him with a little more concern, but had regained her smile.  "Good, good...I would like to talk with you of some things, there."  Her smile turned a little more impish.  "Perhaps you would enjoy taking me to the Magical Dreamers concert tomorrow night."  
  
For the first time that night, Glenn chuckled.  "I didn't know you cared for such wild tastes, Miss Riddel," he said jokingly.  "And I am speaking of the lead singer when I say such, by the way."  
  
She flashed teeth in a grin.  "You cannot tell me the fabled 'dynamite dancer' does not turn your eye, Sir Glenn.  I only consider your wellbeing."  
  
Glenn chuckled again, though the mirth was halved.  "Ah, Miss Riddel, you look a thousand times better than she..."  
  
He trailed off.  There was a moment of pure awkwardness there, as Riddel's cheeks slowly turned pink, and Glenn heard a snicker from one of the dragoons behind the wall.  Probably young Sergeant Trahn, eager for a sheath-spanking.  Glenn would be happy to oblige, later, but for now, he looked to Riddel with a little more embarrassment.  "Sorry, Miss Riddel..."  
  
"That's all right, Glenn...it was a compliment," Riddel said, her blush fading.  "Hah...that's just like something Dario would say."  
  
Glenn smiled, and let the cross-hilt of his mythril sword ease out a little, until it cut through his glove and into the surface of his thumb.  He kept it unseen.  "So, tomorrow then," he said, his voice even.

Riddel nodded, her lips favoring him with one last smile.  "Perhaps around noon...we can have lunch out there in Termina.  Just a little sojourn from things," she told him.  "We'll visit the Einlanzer grave, and then let's be children again."  
  
Glenn felt blood welling against the sword's edge.  "It will be a good day," he said to her.

Her smile widened, and with it, she nodded.  "It will.  Well...I shall bathe now.  Take care, Glenn...I'll come back before I retire to my chambers.  See you then."

Glenn sucked in gently over his lower lip as the bloody warmth now spread to his palm.  He stopped it there, and removed his thumb from the blade.  "That you will.  Farewell, Miss Riddel."

She stepped in and politely pressed her lips to his scarred cheek.  The dragoons in the room groaned with his heart.  Riddel made eye contact with him as she stepped away, for the briefest of seconds, and then nonchalantly paced over to the door.  Her bright green gown sparkled with the thrum of the jade Record for all of a moment, and then the door was opened by another dragoon, and she was gone.

Glenn slid the sword back into its scabbard, slumping on the bed.  Then, all at once, he gasped sharply, taking in a soft groan as he clutched the throbbing cut.  His nose snorted and sniffed hot air as he pressed the thumb into the palm of his warmed glove.  His other hand fumbled on the low belt he wore, and found a small vial in which there was a curative Tablet.  He raised the domino-sized square to his palm, snapped it open, and let the transparent fluid sear over the cut.  There was momentary pain as the germ-killing chemicals seared into the cut, and then nothing, as it patched up again.

He saw the dragoons looking at him, and leaned back upon the bed to rest his head upon the pillow.  

A very awful, painful day.

-------------

Daylight had hit its climax over the broiling trees of the Arnian path.  Now the jungles sweltered with heat that was all too familiar to Serge, and it was exemplified in poor, black-clad Exeter's face.  The swordsman was crowned with sweat that beaded down his forehead and along his blonde eyebrows, even though he showed no sign of tiring.  His black ronin robe was likewise damp near the collar, prompting Serge to thank himself for wearing a silver netvest _over_ a black undershirt.  Likewise, the billowy blue shorts he wore also helped for airing out the heat.

Not to mention all the blood on his leg.

"You all right?" Exeter asked, suddenly.  "That's been bleeding for a while, now, and I'm still not focused enough to use a curative element..."  
  
"I'm fine, don't worry," Serge told him, though he did limp a little even with the help of his Swallow.  "My own fault for having a double-bladed can opener.  Mom will fix me up."  He tilted his head a little, gazing up at the blonde swordsman as they trudged forward.  "And shouldn't I be asking you that?  You're sweating like a horse..."  
  
Exeter offered a rare honest look.  "I feel sick.  It's not supposed to be this hot, even in Arni..."  
  
Serge nodded, regretfully, and tugged down his bandana to block the sun from his eyes.  "I know.  I'm...feeling out of it, myself..."  He craned his head back over his shoulder, towards the path that led to Lizard Rock.  "Something was wrong, back there...didn't you think?  Like the place was foreign."  
  
"There were no Komodo pups," Exeter said, grimacing.  "Not one.  No Beach Bums or blue lizards, either.  There were dark shapes in the water.  Big ones."  
  
Serge's brow furrowed to a frown.  "That's not like the place, is it?"

"No.  But then, it got hot, all of a sudden," Exeter said.  "The animals could be hiding for shade."  
  
"Unlikely," Serge said with a sigh.  "All the animals there have glands specifically designed for negating that heat.  We should have at least seen a few Beach Bums..."  
  
Exeter shrugged his shoulders.  "You're the animal expert...I just hit things with a sword."  
  
The tone in his voice was off.  Serge tilted his head.  "You all right...?"  
  
The swordsman did not answer at first.  Finally his grimace settled into a sad glance.  "I had kind of a bad dream...about the war."  He gave Serge a wry smile.  "Don't ever let anyone tell you, Serge, that battle is anything glorious.  The cruelest image you can conjure up of what war is like...it's not even half as bad as it really is.  You just fight with whatever you got...I remember guys whose blades snapped, so they started throwing rocks instead.  Throwing rocks at guns..."  
  
Serge listened with a ball of discomfort growing in his stomach.  Exeter did not usually talk of such things, and when he did, in not so open a manner; he wondered if the talk earlier had knocked loose a few bricks in the swordsman's barrier.  _Or if I just annoyed him enough.  Poor guy...I shouldn't pester him like that._

Exeter simply shrugged it off.  "Whatever.  I haven't had good dreams in a long time...well, um, except maybe of Leena laying side by side with me on the beach in nothing but her dainties," he cracked, though it was a little forced.  

Serge chuckled anyway, and they kept walking.

The sun broiled with such heat that it felt impossible to keep going, after a while.  There was a dampness to the leaves that made them hang, as though they themselves were sweating.  Serge had trouble keeping his eyelids open, the fatigue of marching so great that it literally stung to blink.  What had happened back there, anyway?  He saw no tracks of the Nameless while leaving Opassa Beach and all through Lizard Rock, and felt physically the same as he always had.  Mentally, there was something else- it was a growing sense of nervousness, as though he were stumbling into a haunted house or a crypt.  Someplace he didn't belong.

It weighed on him, as he walked in silence.

Exeter suddenly stopped, and Serge followed suit.  "We're here," Exeter said, nodding to the faintly lit end of the path ahead of them.  Serge followed his gaze to find the familiar tropical fruit trees that marked the entrance to Arni Village; at this time of the year, they were in full bloom.  Starfruit and passion flower wreathed along the ornate entrance, giving Serge pause to sigh in relief.  Well, some things were still the same, and he saw no signs of panic near the gate.

"Think Leena made it in all right?" Serge pondered aloud.

Exeter sidled the long tachi over his shoulder, walking ahead.  "Only one way to find out.  I'm more concerned that the poor girl may have been overheated.  Perhaps she shed a few garments..."  
  
Serge dug the Swallow tip into the ground and pushed himself after the other, managing a grin.  "The depth of subtlety that you emit, Exeter...wow."  He shook his head, and pushed himself along, towards the gate.  "I'm sure she's all right...has to be.  She's Leena."  
  
"Frying pan and three laces, yep," Exeter replied with a wink.

Serge blinked.  "Three laces?"  
  
"Yeah.  That's how many I'd have to pull in order to stri-"  
  
"Sorry I asked," Serge gritted out.  

As he reached the gate with Exeter, he peered into Arni Village once again.  Almost instantly he was alight with a smile- everybody was around.  The huts were still decorated with flowers and fruit, as though in sheer defiance of the intense heat.  The old saleslady from the mainland pushed her cart along in the center of the town square, and around her he could see the children of the town.  The inseparable little island boy and girl couple, Kiki and Lolo, played hide and seek around the place- either that, or Lolo was literally hiding from Kiki.  He remembered Kiki had made like Leena that morning and threatened Lolo with a ladle unless he got her some Komodo scales.  Other than that amusing sight, Serge saw most of the older denizens still hobbling around, chuckling at the youths in play.

He looked over towards his house, but did not see his mother in the window.  Most likely laying down, he supposed.

"Huh, well, everyone's excited about something," Exeter mumbled as he paced in.  He glanced over to a figure coming out of the nearby bar hut- old man Parjay, it looked like.  "Hey, Jay!"  
  
Parjay was squeezing what looked like rum out of his beard, but when he saw Exeter, he brightened into a smile.  "Hey, hey!  Mister Ex, you're back!  I thought you headed up to Fossil Valley."  
  
Serge and Exeter exchanged a blink, and then Exeter turned back to Parjay with a shake of his head.  "No, uh, I went over to Opassa Beach.  Get some scales for Leena."  
  
"Haha, you're a slick one, Mister Ex," Parjay said with a chuckle.  "She's over by the dock.  She was worried about you when you didn't show up earlier, but she'll be glad to see you.  Hey, why don't you and I share a little toast inside?  I'll tell ya about that time I wrestled a sharkfish butt naked and covered in sauce."  
  
Serge frowned a little at that.  _Didn't show up earlier?  Well, what did she expect, I was unconscious._  

Exeter was likewise bothered, but he brightened hesitantly.  "Haha, sure, I guess...might help if you tell me just what's going down lately."  He looked back to Serge and quietly whispered to him.  "Go check up on Leena, find out what the hell's wrong with her."  
  
Serge nodded, then tipped his bandana to Parjay.  "You two have fun," he said, suddenly very confused.

Parjay flashed a half-toothless smile, then glanced to Exeter and offered a hand as the other padded up the ramp to the bar hut.  "So, like I was tellin' you the other day, I was all alone on my third honeymoon..."  
  
His voice faded into the background as Serge walked the short distance to the pier.  The blood had caked on his leg, though the pain was now gradually getting worse and worse.  It was like a bad headache, in the purest sense- it even gave him the mental frustration of a migraine, too.  Already he was confused; Parjay had only asked about Exeter, and what the whole thing about Fossil Valley was about, Serge had no clue.  Maybe they'd been out a little longer than he thought- or maybe Leena had been in a daze when she came here, muttered nonsensical things.

As he passed his home, Serge saw the lights were off.  His mother probably wasn't feeling well- though if Leena had said he was missing, he doubted she could sleep.  He reminded himself to come right back after seeing Leena.

He trudged out on the pier, glancing over as his feet found the floorboards.  But as he stepped out, he paused somewhat.  There she was- Leena was standing on the pier, clear as day, and in the exact same garments as before.  She had her hands on her hips, and was staring out at the sparkling sea beside the spot reserved for old man Parjay.  Her face was blank, normal- as though without a care in the world.  That bothered him.

"Hey, Leena!" he called, though tentatively, and limped up to her.  "Sorry I'm late- Exeter and I are okay, though.  We just passed out, so whatev..."  
  
He stopped.  Leena had turned to him with a look of pure confusion.  Her brow furrowed, and then her lips moved.

His ears buzzed with the echo of her words, and his eyes sharpened.  He literally thought it was a joke, at first- that she was mad about something.  That he had done something on the beach that was wrong to her, and would prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that he just did not understand women.  Or that she was playing with him, popping a mean joke that he would ironically laugh about and then end up in her leash again.  But the look in her eyes was not something that could be faked.  Horror, surprise, and confusion mixed as one were impossible to forge.

"Huh?  Who are you...?"

As Serge finally realized what she had said, his palm and calf burned, and then dripped with blood.


	5. Ghosts Not Yet Wandering

Chapter IV :: Ghosts Not Yet Wandering 

_Viper Manor Balcony, El Nido 02, 1020 A.D._

There are no such things as ghosts. 

  
Around the time the sky had begun to turn purple with sunset, the waves at Viper Manor's bluffs began to churn much more viciously.  One after another, they plowed into the jagged rocks at the base of the cliff, sending up just enough of a spray to bring a mist up to the Manor itself.  The balcony at the rear of the large estate faced the salty mist, but built high atop the bluffs, it allowed calm sanctuary from the waves' splashing and the sharp wind it brought with it.  Its sun-bleached surface coupled with any part of the day- the dew in the morning, the spray of the waves in the afternoon, and the cold breeze at night.

By itself, the balcony was as calming a sight as that of the waves or the evening sun; plants and flowers decorated the white lodestone rim and the Dragon Emblem was painted upon the paved beige denadorite on the floor, in the middle of which was laid a small blue pool.  Shaped like a pear, the balcony had a small garden structure on its left side, a sort of high porch with a ladder connected to the upper tier.  The top held a rare aylphea plant, and a fountain that watered it.  Beneath it was another small garden rack, with rose vines weaving around its frame, and a bench that was connected beneath it.  With such graceful construction and total privacy, it deserved to face the ocean.  

Riddel bathed within the small pool, and thought of ghosts.  

The water was unique, toyed with by the laboratory her father had set up downstairs; the power of the water was adjusted by one of Miss Luccia's tonics, which gave the pool a glowing aura that signified its curative powers.  Riddel had been cautious about entering the bath when such an experiment was first tried, but Luccia had run enough tests on it to assure her it was safe and actually beneficial to one's health.  It was like taking a bath in a CurePlus element.  As she reclined against its rim, Riddel allowed the waning rays of sunlight to bring her eyelids to a half-close.  Watching the sunset over the ocean while bathing within this most private place- the place she'd chosen as her own- was one of her life's few honest luxuries. 

_Karsh must be watching this, too, somewhere…or maybe not, his hair hides his eyes so often._  Riddel smiled, though half-sadly.  _Please be safe, my friend.  Don't come back hurt._

Bitterness had come to her ever since stepping into the bath.  Riddel's eyes further narrowed, feeling another wave of anger rush through her.  Her father had given questionable orders before, but what he had sent Karsh to do the morning prior was inconceivable.  

A ghost hunt at Cape Howl.  Mother spent so much time reading me ghost stories before I went to sleep, when I was a child.  I never took them seriously…why do you, Father?  Why do you torment the closest ones in my life with all these myths- of ghosts, of this 'cold fire'…?

Riddel scowled at the sun, the taste in her throat turning bitter.  Her father had the body of a giant and the mind of a child, and the sentiment she had known while her mother was alive was buried between both.  It was a crushing thought, that the benevolent giant who had bounced her on his knee as a child was now a stoic powermonger.  She remembered times when she would step out of her bath as a child, and her mother would help her dress, and she would walk straight into their living room and her father would always be there- a pastry in one hand and a storybook in the other, both meant just for her.  As she munched happily, he would regale her with any tale he deemed fit.  He had often liked to imitate the voices of characters, though with as deep a tone as his own possessed, his female characters came off sounding like…well, not like any princess Riddel had ever heard.

It was especially fun to hear him voice the hero.  Cyrus or Sir Frog or one of those curious travelers of Guardia…perhaps what drew me to Dario in the first place was how well he reminded me of them.  He was truly 'hero material'…

The thought of Dario reminded her that her adolescence had brought with it terrible changes.  Riddel shut her eyes briefly and furrowed her brow, struggling to keep the well of images from appearing.  She failed.  She saw Glenn leaning on Karsh as he was dragged back from a skirmish with the Porre, a cross torn on his left cheek and his right hand dangling ominously.  Another haunting image took the form of her mother, sickly pale as she lay on her deathbed.  She saw her father with an angry scar torn over his brow, and a body impaled on either side of his triple-bladed sword, the Viper's Venom.  

Above it all hung the bloodied, broken form of Dario.  

She felt as though her eyes had been pricked by that image, and they dared to weep clear blood.  Riddel swallowed the ashen taste in her mouth and felt her stomach fold with the stirrings of grief and anger.  Anger at the demons, physical and mental, that had torn apart the little family she had only begun to forge when she was younger.  Ghosts and devils had replaced the heroes she had grown up hearing about.  

And without them, the princess was helpless.  She was marched off and had her heart torn out for all to see…

Her belly turned again, but now it was from the forced shunning of emotions she had mastered in recent years.  With all that had happened today, she needed no more anger.  Her mother and Dario were gone, but not forgotten.  Glenn still remained.  Her father was still alive and well.  As for Karsh, he would be well enough; though she doubted he would be in the slightest of good moods with the Shaker Brothers accompanying him, he also had two others that were a little competent-  Mintaka and Sindai of the Dragoon riders, if she remembered correctly- and would no doubt serve their superior to fullest extent.  She had no reason to worry.  Besides, she at least had some privacy now.

"I must take my mind off ghosts, for now," Riddel whispered.  Her face turned down to gaze into the pool that came up to her breasts.  She saw the rest of her body through it, though her vision of her pale flesh was distorted through the ripples in the water.  She was seated on the floor of the pool, one leg bent slightly so that the knee poked above the water's surface.  Idly, she gave it a slow tilt to the side, dunking it in the welcome warmth of the water, then back again to let the chill of the evening air rest on its cap.  Riddel smiled- she'd done that since she was a child, just for the sake of savoring a bath.  It sent an extra rush of warmth down her leg, too.  She sighed, very content with the moment.

Then her eyes found the two white dots on her thigh.

"…why can I never go a day without seeing you?" she muttered to the spots, drawing her leg back into the water.  They were pure white, so white that even her creamy flesh seemed dark against them.  They were difficult to notice, considering where they lay, but they were very distinguishable to her.  Many times, in great heat or cold, they hurt, as though they were open wounds.  Like a snakebite.

Let me forget that for a moment.  Let me just be a little girl in her bath again… 

That thought was more encouraging than those of ghosts or snakebites.  Riddel let her body shift in the warm water to lean against the rim of the pool, and her head rolled onto one shoulder.  Her dark purple hair was already draped over that bare shoulder, its cooling strands forming a pillow upon hot flesh.  The sensation brought her eyes to a brief close, out of sudden drowsiness.  Riddel felt a pleasant tingle wash down her back as she exhaled, the water like a soothing blanket up to her collarbone.  Numbness of emotion and warmth of body was her favorite balm for the conflicts and stresses of the day.  She lay like that and let the urge to relax take her.

Then something cold seemed to brush across the back of her neck.  Riddel frowned, slipping deeper into the water from what she thought was a chill wind.  Then it moved up over her head and against her ear.  She bit her lower lip and gently reached a hand out of the pool to drip some of the warm water against her head.  When she let it fall back into the water, though, there was the cold again, and it swiftly overcame the flush of warmth on her cheek.

And then something licked the water from her ear.

Riddel would have screamed if she hadn't been so tired.  As it was, she spun away from that side of the pool, leaving a torrent of churning water behind her.  Her back slid roughly along the rim, causing her flesh to stretch painfully over the muscles, but still she did not scream.  Her frantic eyes darted to where she had been reclining, searching for any sign of someone there.  For a moment, there was- she caught a glimpse of two sallow orbs hovering there, like the snakebite mark on her thigh.  No, darker than them- eyes.

They were gone with another vicious thud of her heart.  Riddel was left panting on the other side of the pool, her face drenched from the water's sloshing.  Fright ebbed out of her system, but not quickly enough for her to regain composure.  Riddel swore she had felt a tongue on her face.  A ghostly, coarse, wet tongue.  _Wyrm, that was horrible…_

The shadows in the garden rack were now spreading towards the pool.  Riddel hung her head low, reaching both hands out of the water to press them against her face.  She had wanted to wait until the water left a clean scent in her hair, but under the circumstances, she decided that any perfume would do, so long as it was in the privacy of her bedroom.  Enough of ghosts for now; the only thing left to do was sleep anyway.  Eagerly, she turned in the pool and carefully stepped out of it, not even bothering to drain it.

Her towel and evening clothes were on the garden rack.  Riddel brushed her hair back behind her ears and from her forehead, until she felt its cooling surface drape across her back.  The sensation sent another chill over her spine and she walked faster.  She seized the towel and gratefully wrapped it around herself, fiddling with the corners to tie a knot.  It wasn't until she had halfway fastened it that she realized she hadn't bothered to dry herself or even her hair.  She frowned with confusion- while she certainly didn't want to prolong her nudity, she was still in private.  No one was-

_watching you_.

The cold brushed not over her neck this time, but in her mind, and now as a voice and not a touch.  Riddel's head turned back to the pool, her breathing heavy as she again searched for the source of the words.  There was only the pool, which still remained sloshing from her earlier climb out of it.  There were a few white songbirds perched along the rim of the balcony, but apart from her, there were no other people.  Just birds and shadows…but she swore she had heard the voice.

She suddenly wished Glenn or Karsh were there with her.  But, that would be a double-edged sword with her appearance.  Riddel felt a warm touch on her cheeks; on that thought, the desire to dress was final now.  Riddel turned back to her garments and turned even pinker from the anger now flowing in her.  She would have no more of this.  

She dried herself off with the towel.  The sunlight helped her hair dry, so she did not have to spend as much time on it tonight (her ears were more sensitive than most people's, and as such often turned a little swollen when she toweled her hair).  Riddel folded the towel neatly and set it down, then gratefully gathered her clothes.  She put on her gerries and slipped a short white bandeau over her head, hurrying as each garment's silk surface fell upon her flesh.  That brought some more comfort, and for a moment, she paused to look at the white cloth just past the slopes of her breasts.  White was a color that seemed to cling to her body.  That it dispelled the shadows on the balcony came as no surprise to her, for she was born with an affinity towards light.  Whenever her emotions flared, so did her essence.  At such a moment, Riddel's body would be a conduit.  

_Glenn called me something I liked, once.  "Blancreine", I think._  Riddel traced the hem of the bandeau, surprised with the glow in her finger that turned as white as the cloth.  _I think he's the only one who's stayed the same.  He still wears that silly bandana, still makes those smiles, still flatters me.  He's grown handsome.  Maybe he can find a woman in Termina, or maybe Guldove…_

"Glenn in love," she uttered, just to get the feel of the thought.  It was strange, though- something struck her as curious about it.  Try as she might, she could not see Glenn with a woman, at least not as he was now.  Riddel figured it would be at least another few years before her friend could at last fall in love with someone.  She supposed she could give him some time.  Riddel had wanted her own period to grieve for Dario, and no suitor had come quite that close to replacing him.  There hadn't been that many suitors, though.

In her repose, Riddel's hand had slipped down the bandeau to rest on her stomach.  She could feel her skin tightening from the stress of the day.  Another wasted bath, or so it seemed.  Making a soft groan without opening her lips, Riddel took hold of her evening clothes, a basic copy of her typical dress but dyed dark blue instead of sea green.  As she dressed, she forced herself to stop thinking and just let her body and mind settle as one.  
  
A bird's chirping brought her head to turn just as she was smoothing the dress out along her sides.  Riddel's eyes fell to a songbird hopping along the balcony just beside the garden rack.  It was shorter than the others of its kind, leading her to believe it was still very young.  The sight of its head tilting curiously from side to side cheered her greatly.  It was white, just like the glow of her skin, and had a little beak that was splotched with black.  She tucked her still-drying hair behind her ears and walked towards it; it did not notice her at first, but even when it did, the bird did not take flight.

"I wish I had my lyre," Riddel murmured to it.  "I'm sure I could offer some music for your singing…"  
  
"And for wandering ghosts."  
  
The voice was upon her more quickly than even a cold wind could manage.  It was what she didn't feel in that voice, though, that almost caused her to faint.  There was no life in it, and suddenly not even her skin's glow could banish the shadow that draped across her.  She turned around.

He was standing there, camouflaged in the shadow of the garden rack, yet his form seemed unnatural beside the flowers.  He was dark- he did not belong.  Everything he wore was dark or gold, and the gold was dull and lifeless; a short mantle was clasped to his collarbone and draped down past his waist, yet offered a cowl around his neck.  He wore a black sleeveless shirt under it, accenting a hard humanoid torso.  He wore dark pants and boots, but also a small robe beneath that covered up his arms and legs, sneaking past the mantle and the shirt.  On the crown of his head was a gold and black long cap that was a sign of Porre nobility, yet with strips of cloth peeling back from it, like the ears of a cat when it is ready to strike.

A beastly, dark panther… 

She was not at all wrong.  Riddel shuddered when she looked at his hands that were left bare, thick with calluses and muscle and revealed a claw on each finger half the size of a dagger.  Often she could hear them clacking or brushing together, as though sharpening with each of his movements, and it was also often that she had to look away from his face.  Riddel did so now, finding it surprising that she could claim to be respectful of the demihuman culture and yet be totally unable to look one of them wholly in the face.

But then, wasn't it surprising that this one might spy on her nudity, and her thoughts?  
  
Riddel's arms draped around her waist.  Still she did not look at him, but her eyes found his shadow.  "…Ambassador, I had locked my door," she murmured.

His shadow did not waver upon the ground- and neither did anything else.  Riddel realized that the water had calmed within the pool, that the wind had ceased to chill her, and that the birds had stopped their singing.  The sun did not feel so warm anymore, and the waves' crashing beneath the bluffs did not send up a spray.  All of it had changed upon his appearance.

When he spoke, he did not growl like she had expected.  "You may dispense with my title now," he said, in his soft yet deep tone.  "You and I will not be seen."  
  
That brought the cold back.  Riddel suppressed her shuddering and tightened her self-embrace; in hugging herself, she was not sure where his eyes had fallen, so she turned halfway from him.  "My door was locked," she repeated.  "I had hoped to have some privacy."  
  
She heard his nostrils flare- as close to a chuckle as he would ever show her.  "You fear I saw you," he said.  "I assure you that is not the case, Lady Riddel.  I found the door unlocked."

Riddel wanted to look at that doorknob.  She was sure he'd broken it to get in- she knew his claws were like hooks, that he could undo a lock with them as simply as he could pierce skin.  If she only looked at that lock, she would know for sure.  But in turning her head towards it, she would find his face.  His eyes would meet hers before she could glance at the door.  

Without saying anything else, she nodded.  "It is as you say then, Sir Lynx."  
  
His shadow loomed closer, enough for her to realize he was coming towards her.  She could hear his claws clack together in his boots, sending another unpleasant shudder through her back.  Feigning a sudden cough, Riddel turned from him and towards the balcony, pressing a palm to her lips to "stifle" it.  She still heard his claws clattering with his otherwise silent footsteps, like a cat on a kitchen floor; unable to drown it out, she turned her vision totally to one of the songbirds that had since gone silent.  When she looked at it, though, it began to chirp again.

"What business do I have with you, you must be wondering," Lynx said behind her.  

The sudden nearness of his voice filled her with alarm, but she concealed it.  Riddel let her hands rest on the balcony before her, gazing out at the sea that was simply too calm.  She said nothing to him- he could try to divine her thoughts for all she cared.  He already had seen into her thoughts of ghosts- just how was unknown to her.  It was not the first time she had sensed this.  While sitting at the banquet table earlier, by her father and under Glenn's watchful eye, she had found Lynx's gaze turned towards her more than once.  When he spoke, whether of trivial or crucial matters, she was inclined to listen.  He had power, whether by his status or by his origin.

It struck her as odd- why he had come, anyway.  It wasn't so odd that Porre, the nation her father had beaten in the war, would send an ambassador to talk of peace.  Everyone desired instances of calm between instances of chaos, and that had to be true even for a nation as dominant and cruel as Porre.  Destroying Guardia had proved to be incredibly taxing on Porre, and in the end, they had pulled back from El Nido entirely.  There were times in which it was simply best to solve problems and desires through words, not guns and swords.

Yet, what struck her as strange was that they would send Lynx to solve those problems.  He did not strike her as one to carry an olive branch.  Riddel did not see it, but she was sure that Lynx had his scythe nearby- basically a long, twisted black polearm with a cruelly jagged blade at its top.  Though he went without it now, she knew he had it nearby.  

But again, she could not turn her head up to look, for fear of meeting his face.  

"I came to apologize for this evening, my Lady," Lynx said, his voice even closer.  "That is all, truly.  I have no desire to quarrel or bother you."  
  
Riddel blinked slowly, deliberately, and curled her arms closer to herself.  "What moved you to do it now and not during the banquet?" she asked.

He did not stop taking his steps.  She realized he would be at her side if he took only three or four more.  "I wanted to do so while you were alone," Lynx explained, "…to allow some privacy."

She did not care for that last line, and tried to convince herself to be angry.  "You are telling me nothing you could not have said earlier-"  
  


"You are mistaken."

He must have skipped those three or four steps, because she felt his breath combing over her ear.  Riddel felt trapped, and sorely wished she had chosen a more intimidating outfit for tonight, or one that covered a little more at least.  Her tiara would have helped instill a sense of power, even if it was no match for the black hat on Lynx's head.  In her mind's eye, she saw the two of them, and it seemed that no matter how bright she could make herself, beside Lynx's presence, her white would be…incomplete.

As though summoned by that thought, though, the little bird she had been watching earlier hopped over along the balcony.  The splotch of black on its beak was miniscule against the rest of its white body, which cheered her some.  She watched as it moved towards her, and her voice was a little softer when she spoke to Lynx again.  "…how am I mistaken?"

Lynx had stopped.  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his mantle fluttering beside her.  When he spoke, though, there was no longer the cold apathy of his tone.  It was softer and she detected a feeling behind it that she could not name.  _Perhaps it's better that way._  
  
"There are some things I must speak with you of, Lady Riddel, that I cannot say in front of anyone else," Lynx was saying.  "Not even your father…or the young knight."

"…his name is Glenn," Riddel murmured.  She felt slighted that he could not even remember a friend's name, especially Glenn.  She felt a swell in the pit of her belly when she thought of him, so her murmur held a little more force to it.  Not even the little bird's presence could mitigate her curtness; Glenn was fully deserving of the pride behind his name.

She expected Lynx to correct himself, but he surprised her yet again.

"I don't care," he said flatly.  
  


Her face almost turned to his, but she stopped it.  Instead, she grit her teeth and glared into the balcony's rim.  "How dare you?  Glenn is-"

  
"The name offends me," Lynx said icily.  "That is all."  
  


"It is a namesake," Riddel said, turning her gaze back to the bird.  It had not moved, its tiny eyes turned to her.  She would have smiled if she were not still offended.  "It has immeasurable pride behind it…please, do not gloss over it, Sir Lynx.  It's the name of a-"  
  


He cut her off, but this time with a growl that made her jump.  "Oh, I know the significance of the name," Lynx said, softly but with a fury that nearly prompted another jerk from her.  "I come from the mainland, after all.  I know who it refers to."  
  
Riddel's heart had begun to hammer from that growl.  She had never heard that sound out of him, and given his appearance, it matched her childhood nightmares of panther demons in every way.  She swallowed tightly, deciding that she would leave as soon as there was a guarantee that she would not have to look at his face. 

  
The bird had not flown away, though.  It remained close to her, though startled, and took another hop forward.  The corner of her mouth did lift this time; Riddel found cheer in even the smallest of things.  Her hand drifted from her chest and along the balcony, a little more towards the bird.  It hopped to her fingers, tentative but not relenting.  It reminded her of both Glenn and Karsh, in a way.  Since Dario had died, they'd been careful in approaching her, but had not refrained when she asked for comfort.  Riddel truly could have used some of it now.

"You desired to apologize to me," she said again, gesturing for the bird to come into her palm.  "Do so, so that I will not look at you with a bitter eye."

  
"Very well."

It happened quickly.  His claws closed around the neck of the bird as soon as he had spoken.  They were like little sickles as they carved swiftly through the tiny youth.  It didn't even struggle as his claws punched into it- no blood sprayed, no feathers flew, and it did not thrash.  He just squeezed the bird with his claws stabbing into its body, until it gave a pained chirp.

Riddel's eyes flashed with horror when she heard that pathetic sound.  Her hands darted up to her mouth, but she failed to drown out her gasp.  "Oh!" she whimpered.  Her stomach folded in on itself, and she took a step back even as Lynx's knuckles bulged, his fist tightening.  The bird's head finally rolled to the side, yet Lynx did not stop squeezing it even after it was dead.  A full three seconds of nausea passed for Riddel before Lynx finally released the bird, and let its body fall in a ravaged heap to the floor.

Then he looked at her, and her eyes found his face.  She did not know whether it was the killing or the eyes that finally made her cry out.

He was a demihuman.  Physiologically, he was no different from a man of his age, height, and build, but it was under the black hat that he became Lynx.  His features were feline in every way- he had a black snout, a pointed pair of ears, and curved lips that hid pure white fangs.  She had seen them before, glistening as though made of ivory.  His fur was light and cinnamon brown towards the back of his head and around his eyes and nose, but everything from his mouth to his neck was splotched pale white fur.  His forehead was broad and his snout was gracefully elongated, giving him a vastly wise image.  At the same time, it would be a cold wisdom that lay beyond the most striking trait about Lynx:  his eyes.  They were eyes of dark, sickly orange with pupils that were small and black, like dying suns with black holes emanating from their centers.  He was no house cat come to life.  He was Lynx.

_"There was all hope lost in the kingdom, for in the repose of the night, Princess Opal was captured by the wild one, who in his realm is only spoken of in hushed whispers.  There, they say of him that no one moves in Hell without hearing his name…Yamaneko, the Wild Cat."_

_They have made nightmares and fairy tales, just to be inhabited by ones like him.  Oh, god…_  
  
Recalling the fairy tales of princesses and beast men she had heard as a child only furthered the cold sickness now driving itself through Riddel's stomach.  She looked into his face with watering eyes, the cruelty so blatant and sudden that it was almost unbelievable.  Lynx's eyes remained blank and only slightly narrowed, without remorse.  He wiped his claws along the balcony rim, then narrowed his eyes further.

"I apologize," he said.  

  
By the Dragon Gods themselves, he _lied_.

  
"…how _could_ you!?" she demanded, irate as her eyelids began to sting.  "How cou…why did you kill him…?"  
  
Lynx turned his head down to the broken bird at his foot, then back to Riddel.  His vesture was insultingly curious.  "It was just a bird.  A spring krell, at that," he said, as though that meliorated the brutality of what he had done.  "Their life spans are very brief."

Riddel shook her head blankly, wide-eyed, and dropped her hands to her sides.  "It was a life…an innocent life," she croaked.  "It had never done you any wrong."  
  


"It had not done me wrong a minute prior," Lynx said, "and I did not kill it then."  
  


"You're not even listening to me!" Riddel cried, her cheeks flushing.  "It was still a life…how could you end it so callously?"

Lynx's eyelids fell to a half-close, and one of his eyebrows cocked.  "Callously?" he echoed, as though the word were lost on him.

Riddel was growing as confused as she was growing horrified.  "Callously," she said, hardening her voice but not able to quell the tremble running over her body.  "You murdered without remorse.  You care nothing for what you have just done."

  
"I care," Lynx said, his eyelids flickering.  He raised his right hand in front of his chest, and flattened it to where she could see the traces of blood still on the palm.  "I have taken a life in my hands, and seen fit to end it.  It is a natural choice…"

"Natural choice…?"  Riddel's brow furrowed with pure bewilderment, the tears in her eyes suddenly freezing, as though not daring to fall.  "I…you have confused me," she admitted.  

And cornered me.

Lynx's ears flattened, his eyes narrowing further.  "Then I must show you, my Lady," he said, with that kind of polite tone that makes people sound soulless.  His hand descended slowly, but it was to her side, not his.  Riddel's breath caught when his palm found her wrist, as though she had been touched by something outside nature itself.  His hand was solid, but with the smooth, blanketing feel of fur, it felt…different.  She would have never guessed that hand held claws if he had not retracted them.  No wonder the bird had not struggled against his touch.  

Yet, she could feel the distinctive points in his fingers- like the tips of freshly plucked quills, and twice as sharp.  Riddel fought back a whimper.

He lifted her arm.  The long sleeve of her dress slipped down it, leaving the pale flesh of her forearm bare.  There was a rumble in Lynx's throat as he gently turned her arm, like he was smelling something delectable.  She shook further; Riddel followed his gaze to the part of her arm he was looking at, the part his thumb was brushing back and forth over.  He was looking at her wrist.

"…what are…" Riddel began, but her mouth had gone dry.  She paused, taking a swallow to wet her throat.  "What are you doing…?"  
  
Lynx had shifted now- he held her arm in both his hands, and ran the fingers of his right over the deep blue vein in the center of her wrist.  "Your arm is very delicate," he murmured, running his thumb up her wrist's thin flesh.  "Look at the tendon here.  Look at the veins…very long, very beautiful, yet so…infinitesimal.  So small.  You would never suppose without proper knowledge that within them flows so much blood."  
  


She swallowed again, but the dryness had spread to her lips now.  They parted slightly, her breath growing heavier- she was panting, almost as fast as her heart was racing.  Her eyelids fluttered and then grew wide again, her body swaying as though she had been cuffed lightly.  "No, I-I would not suppose," Riddel managed, stuttering.  _Please, let me go…_

One smooth thumb pressed against her wrist, the claw's tip still poking out.  Riddel winced as the vein throbbed- she had never been comfortable with too much pressure on her wrists or her hands.  Lynx, however, seemed very interested in that beat.  He kept his thumb there, and returned his ember-like gaze to her own.

"Feel that…?" Lynx asked, pressing in.  "Feel that beat?  That is of course the pulse…the pulse of life.  And it lies in my hands, this very moment."

Run, just run already! 

Her desire was plain- her _need_ was plain.  The only thing Riddel would have to force herself to do would be yanking her arm away from Lynx.  It would be as simple an action as walking to the door.  And yet, as his eyes found hers, and her own half-shut, it seemed all so…tiring.  She was powerless, she realized.  Nothing was more exhausting or terrifying than being powerless.

"What…what are you talking about?" she asked, surprised at the tone of her own voice- she sounded like a sleepy child, impatient for an answer.

If he recognized her fatigue, Lynx did not show it.  "Surely you have thought of this before," he said.  "You are well versed in matters of philosophy.  Listen to this carefully, Lady Riddel, for here are the most important crossroads of all.  Here are presented two choices…two paths able to be taken."  His hand softened on her wrist.  He began to caress it, and Riddel felt both fear and a heightened urge to scream.  Again, Lynx did not take notice.

Lynx traced his fingers up along her vein, rubbing against the long tendon in its path.  "I could nurture this life.  There…does that feel good?  Comfortable, isn't it?  Warm."    
  
Riddel swallowed, and found it painful- her throat was parched.  It was only now that Lynx took notice of this, for his head tilted and she saw a sparkle in his eye.  "Do not fear honesty, you may admit this," he told her.  "Or…no?  Very well."  He hefted her arm some, continuing to draw a finger over the vein, testing the pulse.  He traversed the ball of her thumb, then returned his touch to the very center of her wrist, resting over the vein.  

"You know the choice in which you can be…nurtured," Lynx said, his voice a whisper.  "Now, the other choice…"

Why…why am I… 

Her thoughts trailed off.  Her breathing was heavy and slow and her eyelids felt swollen, and she was only kept awake by the awful chill running through her stomach.  It became a little easier to be alert, though, when sudden pressure was applied to her wrist.  This time it was far more forceful, firm and focused.  She struggled to keep her eyelids open, but when she did, all she could see were two dying suns.  Lynx's eyes were not so easily evaded, she discovered.  

"It would only take a few more strokes, you know," Lynx was whispering to her.  "Harder, more violent.  Just enough to drag the tip of a claw over a vein…like this."  His finger crooked, and Riddel felt a light prick in her wrist.  Her pulse quickened and she felt cold sweat growing on her forehead, and on the back of her neck.  Lynx still did not take notice, his face smug and almost sly- just like his distant kin when they were perched on a sofa and eyeing a…

Meal… 

"If my hands were too tight, if I made a mistake," Lynx said, purring, "…what might happen before you reached that curative pool?"

Why… 

She had to stop this.  Riddel forced her legs to move, but found them sapped of all energy.  Her muscles were as relaxed as they had been while she was bathing.  She was lightheaded and her breathing had doubled in quickness.  She felt flashes of hot and cold all over, and for the Emblem's sake, why was she so sleepy now?  Now, of all times, when she was face-to-face with Lynx?  

  
Riddel opted for the only option she could employ against her terror- she turned her head away.  "…please, let go of me," she murmured.

Lynx did not release her.  She felt another pang on her wrist, then the warmth of his breath on her cheek.  He was getting closer again, and his eyes no longer held the smug stare of a relaxing cat- they were of a panther when it has caught scent of blood.  "Riddel," he growled, "if you had to choose…?"

Why am I letting him…no, get away, gods, get away! 

Riddel bit her lower lip fiercely, forcing her eyes open again.  She tugged at her hand with more strength, leaning away from him.  "Sir Lynx, please!" she cried, alarm finally setting in. 

 "Riddel," Lynx said again, his voice more interrogating, "would you choose nourishment, or-"

"She chooses neither, Sir Lynx." 

The tears Riddel had come close to shedding began to return with that voice.  A breeze guided her eyes across the balcony, over the pool that had just begun to ripple again.  A few paces from its rim, there was her little savior.  His armored body twice as alert as was normal of him, Glenn faced the two of them, but his eyes were set on Lynx.  It was surprising to see him here, but what stunned her was the glint in his expression.  Though totally blank, there was a sheen to his eyes that reflected anything but the kindness she had come to see in them.

"I would think she chooses a third option," Glenn said.  "A rest, and a well-deserved rest at that."

Riddel breathed her relief.  Almost instantly, Lynx's touch dissipated from her wrist, the cat man turning his equally blank stare towards Glenn.  A breeze combed through the short fur on his face, yet Lynx's expression did not change at all.  Riddel stepped back carefully, enough to where she could watch the two of them.  Lynx's ears still remained flat, his cap casting an unusually heavy shadow over his face- his eyes twinkled with dark orange, and his pupils had thinned.  He drew his arms back to his sides, as though waiting expectantly.  Glenn did not move.

Then Lynx's lips curled back, baring his fangs in the disturbing parody of a grin.  "Young knight, you seem troubled," he said.  "I trust you did not take too much offense to Sir Draco's comments."  
  
Glenn shook his head.  "The insult is hardly worth dwelling upon."  His eyebrows furrowed and then straightened.  "But one thing I do take offense to is touching Miss Riddel against her will.  I respectfully request you not do anything of the sort again."

Lynx hid those awful fangs again, pursing his lips together.  He gave Glenn the courtesy of a nod, which Riddel saw as far too shadowed.  "Your request shall be honored, but not for your sake," Lynx said.  "My touch falls upon whoever it pleases."  
  
Riddel instinctively put her left hand on her other wrist- it still felt tingly there, as though it had awakened from numbness.  She kept her eyes on the both of them, thinking it strange to see them facing each other.  Lynx's impressive figure stood at 6'4" over Glenn's 5'9", yet at the distance they faced each other, height was no longer so important.  It was only in watching them that Riddel noticed that the wind roamed around Glenn in particular; his dark blonde hair was ruffled by it, and the flowers of the garden rack swayed a little more whenever he blinked.  On Lynx's end, there was no wind, only the dying rays of sunset that did not pierce the black garb he wore.  When he breathed, the sunset seemed to speed, and the glow of the bathing pool brightened into eerie azure.

Then, Lynx walked forward.  His mantle fluttered behind him as he strode around the pool, yet his gaze no longer was on Glenn.  "I think I shall retire to my chambers for the night," he said, not a trace of his earlier civility showing.  "I beg your leave, Sir Knight, Lady Riddel."  
  
She was relieved- he'd returned to using her proper title.  _Bless you, Glenn…_

Her breath soon caught, though.  Lynx paused, mid-stride, to stand next to Glenn.  Neither moved, neither looked at the other, but Lynx's mouth moved just noticeably.  Glenn's brow straightened, and he whispered something back.  Lynx gave no reaction, and then walked by without expression.  He reached the door very quickly, and was then gone.  

The entire exchange only took one minute.  It proved, to Riddel, that she could hold a whole breath for sixty seconds.  When she let it out, her head began to swim again.  Her senses seemed heightened after Lynx's departure- only now could she smell the blood of the slain bird, hear the calm dripping of the fountain above the garden rack, and feel the cold mist of the waves below the balcony drape over her face.  She was aware of life again, yet it was terribly disorienting.  
  
She would have stumbled, but Glenn's hand was suddenly on her shoulder.  The cold in Riddel's body seemed to dissipate there.  Sighing, she turned her head a little to find Glenn's eyes meeting hers.

"I'm sorry, Miss Riddel.  That was uncalled for," Glenn said, his voice firm.  "I will make sure our guest is well occupied for the rest of his visit."  
  
Her head hung lower.  Not for the first time did she have to rely on someone else to handle one of her own problems.  "Thank you," she muttered.  It seemed an empty thing to say, for her thoughts were not on it.  Riddel turned her head towards Glenn, finding his face the same as it had been when she had gone to see him in his quarters- there was a bit of dirt over his eyebrow and his lower lip had a small sore caked against its corner, but his half-smile had once again returned.  His sparkling eyes were a pleasant change from the dying gold of Lynx's.  He was a comforting antithesis.

But…

"Glenn," Riddel said, "what did he tell you, just now?"  
  
Glenn did not even flinch.  "Nothing worthwhile, Miss Riddel," he told her.  "Just to 'bury the bird.'  I assume he means that songbird…"  
  
Riddel felt a pang run through her, causing her head to turn to the slain bird still lying on the ground.  Her eyes filled with pity, Riddel nodded to him.  "Yes, that would be best…oh, Glenn, you're sure we don't have a reviving element stocked anywhere?"  
  
His hand tightened just a little on her shoulder before slipping away.  "It's been dead too long," he said gently.  "I will bury it.  Please, get some sleep tonight…"  Glenn brightened into a forced but familiar smile.  "We have a big day tomorrow.  Take care."  
  
"…yes," Riddel said, conceding to the idea of sleep.  She put her hands tentatively on Glenn's arms a moment, forcing her own smile.  "Thank you, Glenn."  
  
He shook his head, but he kept his gaze locked with hers.  "You're very welcome," he said, almost a mutter.  Bowing his head once, Glenn gave her another smile and then moved away, towards the bird's body.  Riddel likewise began to pace towards the door, but she kept her gaze on Glenn as she did.  It was clear to her that Lynx had not told him such a thing- the ambassador had proved to her that a songbird meant as much as tissue paper to him.  He had said something else to Glenn, something that Glenn had recognized and yet not wanted to.

For a moment, I thought I heard Lynx say "Dario."

Again Riddel's eyes swelled, and in watching Glenn's painfully familiar movements, she turned her head back to the door.  Lynx had seen too far already- she wanted that memory, most of all, left alone and untainted.

Tomorrow I will pay my respects.  Just…let me rest, now… 

She walked on to the door and entered the hall, and even before she reached her bedchambers, Riddel had already started to dream.

------------------------

About the only thing that hadn't changed was that Leena still fussed over him.

Serge looked at his bandaged palm resting on the table, a red stain still etched in its center.  That it still stung came as no surprise to him, as most of his body did.  Walking all the way from Opassa to Arni in blazing heat would tire anyone out, even though he had done it week after week in the last ten years.  Yet now his legs were sore and his cuts bled heavily, and sweat dampened his bandana and brought him uncomfortable chills of cold and heat.  He had a headache.  His biceps hurt from carrying his Swallow, which was laid out upon the table before him.  Everything felt terrible.  Everything felt different.

Then again, he was sitting in his own home, and his mother was gone.

_Not gone.  Just…missing.  Oh, damn it, it's the same thing._  He told himself that over and over, but it never worked.  The house was just the same as he'd left it- the windows were uncovered, the floor was swept, the hammock in the corner swayed and the kitchen was cleaned perfectly.  The stairway towards his room even had the same long carpet draped over each step.  None of the homes outside in the village were any different, either.  But something was genuinely wrong.  It didn't feel like his home anymore; Serge had never moved from house to house, but he imagined this was what it might have been like.  The irony was that it was the exact same house.

But my mom's not here.  Missing.  Leena said the woman who owned this place was dead.  Her name was Marge, she said.  She's crazy.  No, I'm crazy…what's going on?  This is my home.  No, it's not, but it should be.  Dammit, Ex, come back soon.  Show me I'm not dreaming- this is all just a prank.  Is it the Trickster's Eve yet?

His wounded leg tightened again,  He winced, and turned his head back down to the floor.  By his chair, Leena knelt, binding the angry cuts on his calf.  She had been like that for the past few minutes or so, as he sat in silence.  She did not "recognize" him, or so she'd said, but that hadn't stopped her from taking him here to tend to his cuts.

"…these are some nasty scratches, stranger," Leena was saying.  "If I didn't know better, I'd say you were bitten by a lion shark."  
  
The mention of the shark stirred a memory- a recent one, of the wave that had flown at Serge right before all the world had gone black.  His eyes narrowed ever so slightly, then turned down to Leena.  "I'm…thank you, for patching me up," he said.

Leena's hands were noticeably trembling as she applied another bandage to his leg.  "You're welcome," she said, not looking at him.  "Not many strangers just walk up like you did.  I didn't expect myself to be so famous- I'm sorry, but I still don't remember ever giving anyone outside Arni my name."

Stranger.  She was using the word over and over again, stinging him each time.  Serge closed his bandaged palm into a half-fist.  "I didn't mean to surprise you, Leena," he said.  "I know your name because we've…"  
  
He trailed off.  Leena did turn her head up now, her amber eyes a little more wary.  "Met?" she said, trying to complete his sentence.  "Is that it?  I met you somewhere before?  You do look familiar."  
  
_Heh.  The bad thing about friends- on a day you'll never expect, they will forget everything they shared with you.  But it shouldn't be this bad.  This isn't a joke, or a prank, because Leena's not this good an actor.  She'd blush whenever we played 'Fantasy', so much that I could tell she was trying to stay in character and bite her tongue at the same time.  Chief Radius would never let a joke go on for this long, either.  Exeter was recognized right off the bat.  The only one who doesn't fit is me._

_What the hell…?_

"…you really don't remember me," Serge said, his voice low.  "I don't believe it…this's really happening.  You don't even recognize me."

"I'm sorry…" Leena said honestly, her head shaking.  "Could you tell me your name?  Maybe that would jog my memories a bit."

He tried to say it, and then his voice caught in his throat.  Something stopped him from saying it flat out.  He had a premonition that it would not be well received, for whatever reason.  Looking at Leena's confused but tense eyes, Serge was inclined to believe so.  His name died on his lips; as if on cue, his cuts gave a sudden throb.  This time he forced himself not to wince, though when he spoke, his voice cracked.    
  
"Whose house is this, Leena?" Serge asked.

She blinked, taking a moment to press the final strap of the bandage on his calf, and then stood up.  He was glad, since he was uncomfortable with her kneeling to him, even if it was just to treat a cut.  Leena didn't seem to care, though.  "This house belongs to my friend," she said.  "His name's Exeter, the Chief of Arni.  He's in Fossil Valley at th…what's wrong?"

Serge felt his gut do a complete roll-around.  "Exeter lives…here?" he said breathlessly.  "Wh…but he is in town!  I just came back with him to look for you…"  
  
He only won a knitted brow from her. Serge wished he could get her to stop looking like that.  "That's weird…Chief Exeter went up to Fossil Valley because the Dragoons needed him for some silly exorcism," Leena said.  "I guess General Viper is getting into the holiday spirit.  Did you meet Exeter there?"  
  
"…I met Exeter when I was in diapers," Serge said, agape at the mention of General Viper- the General was supposed to be missing.  "You're telling me he's the Chief?  What happened to Radius?"  
  
Again, he had no luck in changing that knitted brow.  Leena stepped back, her frown sharpening.  "Radius?  The only Radius I know of is a coward," she said.  "He fled in a Porre ambush at the Divine Dragon Falls, northwest of here.  He let Sir Garai die in that attack, who was Chief Exeter's master."  Leena hugged an arm to her side, twisting her lip.  "That was all after the original owners of this place died, though…"

Died?  
  


"There was a couple living here with their son," Leena told him, her gaze falling.  "I can't remember the husband's name, but he was a good friend of my father…they both disappeared a long time ago on a fishing trip.  A storm took them into Porre territory- they're dead, most likely…"  
  
"I'm…I'm sorry," Serge managed.  He already knew of the disappearances of his father and Leena's, but to say that they'd died was cold and final- he had never once thought of his father as dead, for the simple truth that it kept the memories of him warm and secure.  As though there were something to look towards and still be able to recall him from it with a smile and not a tear.   Still, even if Leena thought this way, she deserved his condolences- assuming she was the Leena he'd grown up with.  That was looking very bleak.

Leena sighed once.  "Don't be," she said, composing herself quicker than he'd expected.  "After the husband died, the mother and son were left alone here…"  She paused a moment, the corner of her mouth tugging up.  "The boy…he was my friend, actually.  I played with him all the time- you know that silly game, 'Fantasy'?  There's no wrong way to play it, you just kind of make-believe.  I…used to play that with him, and my sister, and my friends Kiki and Lolo.  He never got to know them really well, but I think they liked him.  I…know I did."  
  
Serge knew what was coming.  His palm tightened into a complete fist, and he prayed for a miracle.

"Funny how puppy love kind of stays with you…when all your memories of that cute little kid you knew were wonderful, you hold them in your heart and don't let go," Leena said idly, her hand reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.  "I guess…I guess I really did like him, though.  Sometimes I sit back and wonder what it might've turned out as, had I known him any longer.  He liked fishing- he loved the water.  I think that's what his life would've been based around, but…"

_Do not want to hear this, I do not want to hear this…_  
  
Her expression turned to a smile that was all but bitter.  "I guess it wanted more than that.  He drowned when he was very young, ten years ago-"  
  
"_I'm Serge!"_

The outburst coupled with the sound of Serge's chair crashing to the floor.  As he stood, Serge's heart pounded freely, his breath heaving, but his stunned reaction was rivaled simply by Leena's wide-eyed stare.  Her lips were parted slightly, her hand motionless on her elbow- as agape as she could be without falling to her knees in shock.  Serge matched the look, all motion around him stopped for one long second.  Even the sounds of the village activities faded from perception.  Between himself and Leena, all Serge could hear was their breathing.

He was _not_ dead.  He refused that belief entirely, though all sense of what had happened was now more lost on him than ever.  Ten years ago, he had been attacked by a panther demon, he had almost been killed, but he had not.  Leena herself had been one of the first to visit him while he was recuperating from the venom of the wild cat.  Serge remembered the look in her eyes when she saw him, the flash of horror and pity in them when his blanket slipped down to reveal just a corner of his mangled body.

It had been the same look she gave to him now- disbelief.

"That's not funny," Leena whispered.  "That's not funny at all…"  
  
Serge set his jaw.  "No, it's not, because I'm _not_ dead.  I'm Serge!"  
  
"How you have the audacity to do this is beyond me," Leena said, her expression knitting into another frown- an angry one.  "You went through all the trouble of finding out that boy's name to play this…this sick joke?"  
  
Reason abandoned him.  Serge clenched his hands into fists, biting the inside of his cheek, and felt his cheeks flush with scarlet.  "Sick joke!?  Everyone here's pretending to not recognize me and you call this a sick joke?!" he said acidly.  "I went to the place where I almost died to get you three stupid scales, Leena!  Exeter and I marched through heat I haven't felt in years just to come back here for you!  This strange guy at the beach told me to find you so I would know what's going on- and I'm more confused than ever…do you realize what this day alone has meant for me?!"  
  
With those words, he'd changed her look to one of sickened confusion, and she stepped away from him until the small of her back found a shelf on the other side of the room.  That made him even angrier.  Red with heat and anger and pain and frustration, Serge stepped after her to drive in his point.  "I fainted and you didn't even try to help me, or Exeter," Serge said.  "I thought you'd at least come back here to get some help, but you didn't!  You left me there and you went back to living as though nothing had happened at all!  You left us both-"  
  
He froze.  Leena's hand had closed around something behind her back- the handle of what had to be a frying pan.  He looked at her face, breathless, and found it twisted into an equally flushed expression.  Tears carved down her cheeks, her temples visibly throbbing.  Her chest sucked in and out, a strangled gasp betraying the sobs that were about to come.  She turned her head down and began to cry, and she lifted a hand from behind her back to clasp her eyes.  "Stop…" she said, wheezing pitifully.  "Stop it…get…get out…"  
  
Serge swallowed tightly.  That she had reached for her frying pan would have seemed comical if it weren't all so horrifying.  She had grabbed it out of desperation, had broken down under his words- if she were in on some stupid trick, she would have never done that, and he'd have never been left with such a seething hatred for himself.  He was scaring her.  He was making her cry.  _He_ was doing all of it.  It took much longer for him to compose himself with those realizations, but when he did, it struck him fully and coldly.

She was telling him the truth.  

"I…I'm sorry," he croaked.

Leena shook her head, not looking at him.  "Just- just go," she said, her voice strained.  "If there's any shred of mer…mercy, in you, you'll go…go, leave me alone…"  
  
His legs were now drained of energy, to where he could not move, and yet could not fall.  The lump in his throat thickening, Serge took a step back on reflex.  "I'm sorry," he repeated, uselessly.  "Please, understand that.  I'm really sor-"  
  
"Shut up!" Leena screamed at last, her tears flying.  "Get out!  Will…will you just leave me alone…?"

It tore into Serge to hear her shouting like that, but he could do no more.  Squeezing his eyes shut, he took another step back, easing towards the front door- and watched it swing open.

"What the hell's going on in this place, Serge?"

Serge's shoulders slumped in relief.  _Exeter.  My saving grace._  
  


Exeter stepped in over the threshold, his eyes narrowed and his hair soaked- Serge would've guessed he'd dumped his head in the village fountain to cool off, if he were sure there _was_ a village fountain in this warped version of his home.  Exeter looked confused despite that refreshing cold, however, and his eyes fell immediately on Leena.  When she looked back at him, her tears caked immediately.  Eyes widening, Leena tilted her head and released the frying pan she had just clutched.  Serge felt the tension ease out of the room, and he thanked the Dragon Gods that his friend was back.

"Exeter?" Leena said, incredulous.  "Wh…what's going on?"  
  
Exeter cocked a brow, half-smiling.  "Plucking the words out of my mouth, toots," he chuckled.  "I'm kind of curious as to why you didn't help out Serge and me when we went night-night."

Leena narrowed her eyes in painful bewilderment, her compact form swaying in the air.  "What are you talking about?  I've been here all day…I thought you were at Fossil Valley."  
  


The swordsman blinked.  "Fossil Valley?  Why would I go there?  It's full of Porre soldiers," he said, raising a brow.  "They'd shoot me on sight.  Did you hit your head or something, Leena?  Hell, did the whole village take a swig from Parjay's beer?"  
  
Leena stared off into blank space, her voice dying each time she tried to speak.  Serge sighed, turning away from the both of them to look towards his Swallow.  "It's no use, Ex," he said.  "She's not going to have any idea of what you tell her…as far as everyone's concerned, you're at Fossil Valley, and I'm-"  
  
"You're not Serge," Leena said sharply.  Her fear and confusion had reverted to anger, bringing his head around in shock- he'd never heard her talk like that so seriously.  "I don't know how you dragged his name out of Ex, but you're not him.  You have none of his…you're, you're just not like what he used to be!  You don't even look or talk like him.  You're a total liar.  Or worse…"  

Her hands curled into fists that shook with rage.  She stomped over to Serge until she was up close to him, glaring into his face- she was only two inches shorter than him, but she seemed taller.  "…you came here from Porre, didn't you?" she said, her breath hot and violent on his face.  "You're a spy trying to hurt Exeter, hurt Arni…you're not satisfied with hanging Garai's body up on a cross, or sinking my father's ship in the storm!  Damn you!  _Damn_ you!"

She had never cursed him.  Never.  His eyes widened with hurt, and found only hatred in Leena's eyes.  For a moment, he thought she was going to hit him.  Her fist was wavering by her thigh, knuckles blanched white.  She wanted to do it.  Given what he had said to her, Serge did not blame her, but that he could actually see and sense her hatred for him was…disturbing.  Painful.  Bloody painful.  
  
Exeter stormed over to her, fluidly, and grabbed her shoulder.  "Get a grip, Leena!  I've known Serge since he was a kid- he's not a liar and he's damn well not a Porre spy!"  
  
"Don't you touch me!" Leena shouted, wrenching herself free of Exeter's hand.  "You're not the same, Exeter.  They did something to you…that 'exorcism' was just a ruse!"  
  
"You've been reading way too many stories, Leena," Exeter said.  "I'm fine, Serge is fine-"  
  
"He's not Serge!"  
  
"Yes, he is."  
  
Serge listened to them talk a moment longer, but their words were beyond him now.  He felt like something had hit him in the gut and then thrown him up against a wall.  He would've been content, however, if he could only just deny it.  He had been raised with the idea that it didn't matter what anyone else thought of him, but he knew it did matter what people knew of him.  Leena didn't think he was dead- she knew he was dead, just as he thought the opposite.  Did he know he was alive, though?  
  
_All I can do is believe I'm alive.  I can't know I am…not on my own.  Not even with Exeter-_

He did not finish the thought.  Suddenly, everything was vague again.  He saw Leena and Exeter, but at the same time, he saw beyond them.  Serge perceived an entirely different setting.  The sky was darker, painted with orange and yellow as purple clouds began to fill it up.  He could hear the roar of ocean waves against bluffs which led up to a cliff, its ground parched and cracked.  A barnacle-covered coral cliff, it looked like, and Serge realized what he was seeing.  That was Cape Howl, a series of open sea coves to the northwest of Arni.  There was very little wildlife there, and even then it was mostly comprised of herbivores- for that reason, the place was rumored to be haunted by the ghosts of children who had died because of war and famine.  But the centerpiece of this sight was no ghost, but a grave.  One unmarked gravestone at the very tip of the cape, over the eerily calm sea below.

On that gravestone were etched three claw marks.

"Meow!"  
  
Something furry brushed by his leg.  Serge cried out in alarm, his reverie cut short, and once again he was in the living room of his house.  He fell back against the table, his heartbeat increasing to a maddening rate.  Leena and Exeter likewise snapped out of their barbed conversation, each staring at him with a mix of confusion and alarm.  Their eyes, and his, fell to the floor to find the source of the sound.  Serge already knew what it was, though, and turned his head away as quickly as he could.

"…it's just a cat," Leena said, twisting her lip as the little black kitten mewled on the carpet.  "And Serge would never be afraid of one."  
  
Exeter growled.  "Why are you being so damn cold all of a sudden?  You weren't like this before- not even when I used your gerries to hilt my old kodachi."  
  
Leena slowly flushed red, half out of anger and half out of blatant embarrassment.  "This is different…there's no honor in making fun out of people's deaths.  Especially when it's so obvious-"  
  
"Am I…I mean, this boy…" Serge said, "is he buried anywhere?"

 Leena turned her head sharply, her anger fading- somewhat.  "Well…yes.  His mother buried him by the sea…she died soon after, of a broken heart."  She chewed her lower lip.  "If you want to go, try to show a little respect when you do.  He's buried up at Cape Howl, on the farthest cliff."  
  
_Thought so.  Damn, I'm getting more questions than I am answers.  I think I'm seeing things…maybe places where I have to go?  Instances in time or place._  Serge nodded to her, then reached back and picked up his Swallow.  He sighed at its grip again, and rested its curved hilt against the hook on his belt.  This weapon of lion shark bone and bronze, and Exeter, the one who had taught him to use it, were the only things that recognized him anymore.  Other than the Nameless, anyway, though in that mysterious mainlander lay the answer.  In going to this grave of "his", perhaps the answer would be found.  The Nameless had said that if he found Leena, he would tell Serge why he was here.  Maybe he could help.

"Exeter, let's go to Cape Howl," Serge said.  "Don't ask, please, let's just go- I'll explain on the way."

Exeter blinked, glancing to Leena before turning halfway to the door.  "If you're positive…are you sure you don't want to stick around and find out just what the hell's going on here?" he asked.

"There's nothing here to find out," Serge said, sighing again.  "Really, I'll tell you on the way.  Let's just go…please?"  
  
The other man narrowed his eyes a fraction, then glanced to Leena.  "We'll be coming back to stay the night here," he said quietly.  "Is that all right with you, or will I have to get my friend a nametag?"  
  
Leena stared at him coldly.  When he didn't flinch, she turned away, towards the little black kitten that was rubbing against her bare shins.  "It's your house," she said, bending to scoop up the cat.  "Just don't expect me to be here when you do come back."  
  
She stroked the front of the kitten's ear.  Serge thought she looked very lovely doing that, and it hurt that he couldn't reach over and touch her shoulder like he'd used to.  Nonetheless, he stepped forward towards her, only enough to where he could see the corner of her eye.  Her focus was entirely on the kitten- he noticed that she lifted it enough to where he could not stare at her face without seeing it, too.  That caused him to both wince and shiver; cats were one of the things that purely scared him.

"I'm sorry," Serge said to her.  "I didn't mean to offend you.  I know this will sound stupid, but I never wanted to hurt you.  That was what I considered a mortal sin.  I don't care if you don't promise to wait…I'm coming back, okay?  I'll make it up to you somehow.  I promise that."  
  
Leena's finger paused on the little cat's head.  She sighed once.  "Don't take this personally, stranger," she muttered to him, "but after you come back, I want you to leave, and I never want to see you again."

He swallowed tightly past the lump that he was sure would have killed him if he hadn't.  "All right," he said.  "Take care, Leena."  
  
Exeter looked as though he were fit to explode.  Serge calmed him with a forced smile, though.  "Let's go," he said simply.  He walked by Leena, not pausing as he did, and in a number of steps, he was at the doorway.  Behind him, he heard Exeter hesitate, then follow.  

When he reached the door, though, Serge heard Leena call after him.

"You're not Serge," she said, choking.  "You're not Serge."  
  
Exeter turned immediately, grimacing.  "Will you just-"  
  
"It's okay, Exeter," Serge told him, already moving out the door.  "Maybe I'm not.  Maybe I am.  Let's go find out."

My joys, my pains, my laughs and my shouts…my life…was it all just a dream? 

-------------------

There wasn't much to Cape Howl other than lumps of dead coral and barnacles.  Occasionally there was an outcropping of rock here and there that formed wide pillars on the ground, but for the most part, the ground was flat.  There was one straight path that led from the entrance to the longest cliff at the end.  When Serge and Exeter reached that path, it was already close to sunset.  The coral had turned dark orange and the ground was bleached red, the bright green and blue of the barnacles and flowers that sprung up turning dark.  It would be night soon.

As they walked along the path, side-by-side, Serge noticed Exeter had gone silent.  After he had finished explaining everything that Leena had told him, Serge himself had gone quiet, but Exeter had not said a word.  He took it all in through the heat and the humidity, his face blank and beaded with sweat.  There had been one instance where Serge saw him take in a gasp, but nothing more.  He wondered if Exeter were thinking of that mention of Garai- Leena had said Exeter was his protégé.  If that was true, it explained everything about Exeter's fighting style- and maybe why Serge was sure he heard the other man mentally cry out so many times, as though in pain.

While Exeter struggled with that, however, Serge had his own dilemma to face.  He was tired, but now he saw the gravestone just ahead, and he knew the answer lay within reach.

_This is where I rest- and there's so many ways to interpret that, and they may all be right.  Leena said I wasn't Serge…yet, I have so many memories of her calling me that.  Moments where her lips seemed so close to mine, and parted only to utter that name.  Were they…fantasy?  Could that be the reason I'm a stranger to her?_

_…Nameless, you really better tell me what's going on._

"There it is," Serge said, panting.  "Right at the end of the cliff, just like Leena said."  
  
"You assume that was Leena," Exeter grunted.  "That was a stranger, Serge.  If she were really Leena, she'd never say things like that to you."  
  
Serge swayed with a chuckle he did not hear.  "That was Leena.  I just wasn't myself…or I was myself, but she didn't see that."  He winced.  "That sounded confusing, didn't it?"  
  
"Less than you think."  Exeter sighed, reaching up to wipe his forehead.  "Everything you told me back there…it's unreal.  There are too many things that aren't making sense.  Me in Fossil Valley, for one thing- the Porre rule up there.  And then there are the things that do make sense that…shouldn't."  
  
That caught Serge's ear.  "What's that mean?" he asked.

Exeter looked at him, grim shadows under his eyes.  "I have never, ever told anyone about Garai, Serge," he said.  "Not once.  Not even to your mother, whom I trusted…trust…very much.  I didn't want anyone to find out…"  
  
Serge frowned.  "Find out what?  That Chief Radius was responsible for your master's death?"  
  
The swordsman looked down, his lonely strand of black hair swaying in the sea breeze.  "…yes.  But, it wasn't his fault.  It was mine, and I would have never exiled Radius for it.  I would have to be utterly insane to do that."

"Your fault?"  Serge raised an eyebrow.  "Ex, you're the best swordsman this side of the island.  Your code of honor is-"  
  
"I let my master die.  To hell with that code of honor," Exeter said with finality.  "There's no honor in a wasted life.  Radius always saw that- I'm surprised he didn't exile _me_."

Serge shook his head.  "I don't understand…Exeter, what happened?"  
  
He didn't respond- probably didn't want to.  Sidling his sword over his shoulder, Exeter walked forward on the path, gesturing for Serge to follow.  "That's not important," he said.  "I think we're beyond a lack of recognition, though.  As I said, it seems like certain things that should be, aren't any longer, and the reverse can be true.  What does this imply, you think?"  
  
Though curious, Serge followed him hesitantly and did not pursue the earlier line of questioning.  "That something may have happened to change a lot of things?"  
  
"Something like that."  Exeter's eyes narrowed to sharp slits.  "I wonder…you remember the myths of the mainland?  The king of Guardia being someone that saved mankind by traveling through time?"  
  
Serge thought about that for a moment.  "Cro…King Crono, was that it?" he asked, pausing to take in an extra gulp of air.

Exeter's lip twisted at the name- he almost half-smiled.  "Crono was his name, yes," he said, his tone wistful.  "Him and his wife, Queen Marle, were said to have gone through the ages with some friends- Sir Frog, no less- and saved the world.  I don't remember the details of the myth, but I do think they did so.  If they could do that- if they could modify time- could a microcosm of that have just happened?"  
  
"A microcosm?" Serge echoed, a little confused.  "You mean like a smaller version?"  
  
"Your vocab's slow.  You get a C for the day in that area," Exeter said dryly, though grinning- he was still Serge's teacher, after all.  "Yes, a smaller version.  Maybe somehow, we put a hiccup in time- changed some things that weren't meant to happen.  We did black out all of a sudden, after all.  I don't know…consider it."  
  
"I will," Serge said, mulling it over.  Crono…he'd never figured out that whole story about the red-headed daredevil who had been king of Guardia.  He would wager the man was something else, though- the stuff heroes were made of.  If he had gone through time, after all, there would never be much else to conquer except what lay beyond the heavens.  Serge felt more than a little guilty comparing himself to a man like that, so the idea of being warped in time didn't exactly hold water- at least not to him.

"Serge?"  
  
He looked over at Exeter.  The swordsman had stopped, and Serge realized where they were- right on the little outcropping of cliff that held the grave.  Serge swallowed tightly, trying not to look at it yet, and kept his eyes on his friend.  "What is it?" he asked.

Exeter nodded towards the gravestone, then looked at Serge again.  "Whatever that reads, whatever that says…you and I are in this together."  He smiled kindly.  "We're teacher and student, friend and friend.  You lead, I'll follow.  That sound all right?"  
  
It took a moment to realize what the other man was really saying, but when it dawned on him, Serge returned the smile.  Loneliness was the coldest, most abominable feeling in the world.  Were it not for Exeter's presence here- the Exeter he knew- Serge felt he would have crumbled.  The other man had his back, and that was truly special.  _If I'm ever able to repay you, teacher, it will only be by the skin of my teeth._

They nodded once, then turned, and began the long walk.  Each step revealed a little more of the advent of dusk on the horizon.  The sun was in Serge's face, so he was forced to keep his gaze down- on an even line with the gravestone.  The cliff itself formed a dying path, narrowing and narrowing to where it looked like it would only fit two other people besides Serge and Exeter.  The caws of seagulls could be heard, yet they were hollow and fleeting.  All Serge could perceive were the sounds of his footsteps and the growing outline of the flat, triangle-shaped rock ahead.

Serge reached it first.  Exeter purposely stopped a few steps back from him, as though to allow him some breathing room.  

As he read what was inscribed there, Serge realized how fitting that was:

  
  
_"Our beloved Serge_

_Died, Age 7_

_Nobody can take anything away from him._

_Nor can anyone give anything to him._

_What came from the sea, has returned to the sea."_

The wind was sharper now.  Cold settled over him.  Serge felt his breathing pick up, horror flashing in his eyes.  The epitaph was old, the imprints faded.  But the three claw marks over it were not.  Serge reached down, daring to touch the stone where the marks were raked in.  They were deep and hot, much hotter than any sun-bleached rock Serge had ever touched.  They almost burned.  Awed, he let his hand fall to the base of the stone, and felt a small strip of rock that had fallen off from it.  He closed his palm around it and lifted it up- a square-shaped chip, it looked like.    
  
Part of his own gravestone.

"I'm…dead," he whispered.  "I'm dead…"  
  
A hand fell to his shoulder.  Serge nearly buckled under Exeter's touch- though very light, it felt far too heavy.  The callused grip tightened, though, and prevented him from falling.  "I…don't know what to say, Serge," he said softly.  "But I know you're not dead-"  
  
Then he pushed Serge.  Hard.  Crying out in alarm, Serge fell over completely to the ground, his shoulder hitting first and sending the rest of his body over.  His ankles found the edge of the cliff, and fearing he would fall, Serge rolled to his left side, mindful of the Swallow clipped there.  He turned a demanding glare towards Exeter-

-and his eyes widened in alarm as a crimson veil of energy slammed into Exeter's waiting front.

"Aargh!" Exeter grunted, his muscles tightening under the sudden glow that bound him.  He stumbled and fell to one knee, his teeth clenched and bared in fury and pain.  Serge gasped, struggling to get to his feet even as Exeter fought to come to his, the light giving off some type of black smoke around Exeter's compact form.  Serge recognized what it was- an element.  A red element, "Weaken."

"What the hell!?  Ex, try to fight it!" Serge said, climbing to his feet and gripping the other man's shoulders.  It burned to touch the man's skin, even through his black ronin robe, but it was necessary- and Serge could handle a burn if it meant helping his friend.  _Damn it, Ex, you shouldn't have taken that for me- idiot!  Idiot, idiot, idiot…_  
  
"So you're Serge- the ghost of the boy that died ten years ago…"

The voice confirmed what Serge had suspected- they were not alone.  Angrily, he swirled around, his Swallow practically flying off its hook as he unclipped it.  Serge turned his glinting blue eyes to the source of the voice, and his stomach turned in on itself.    
  
There were five of them.  Five strangers stood at the entrance to the long cliff, and all were carrying weapons.  All wore armor, though the color differed.  There were two men in brown chain mail and bronze armor at the rear, one tall and thin with a helmet and a halberd and a rat-like moustache, the other short and fat with a hand axe and what had to be the _worst_ crew cut Serge had ever seen.  

Ahead of them, though, seemed no laughing matter- two soldiers, one male and one female, stood with far more impressive weapons at the ready.  The girl dressed in steel armor and silver chain mail around a slight figure that was forged of battle.  The armor reflected the color of her ethereal eyes, though her hair hung in a slick dark mane that glinted with cobalt blue.  At her side, she wielded a cruel-looking weapon that was essentially one saw-toothed blade attached by chain to a polearm shaft.  The man looked about her age- 19 or so, he would have guessed- and wore the same type of armor and looked very elegant, with dark red hair that just barely hung to his shoulders, though one lock slid all the way over one cheek to his collarbone.  His eyes were confident and blue, and at his side was a steel-hilted rapier.

The one in the front was the one who had spoken, and easily the most awe-inspiring.  With long purple hair and piercing eyes that smoldered with red under the sunset, his skin was deep tan.  He was _solid_, from head to toe- he wore a long white robe patterned with green and red edges on the short sleeves and down the sides, fashioned around a tight waist by a leather belt.  It was parted in the middle to bare the collarbone down to the center of a hard chest.  He wore white gloves that molded to the long metal axe held in his hands.  He was the one who had spoken, Serge knew.

Exeter grunted behind him.  "Dragoons," he whispered, the charge of the element crackling with his voice.  "Acacia Dragoons…and, as I live and breathe, that's Karsh…"

Serge's hands tightened around the handles of his Swallow.  "Karsh?" he asked quietly.  "The Dragoon Deva?  I thought he was killed in the war…"  
  
"And I thought you were alive," Exeter said wryly.

It was a sore point, but Serge didn't have time to take offense.  He fell into a defensive stance, left foot in and right foot out, his Swallow held down beside his thighs in a ready grip.  "All right, that's far enough," he said to the Dragoons, making his voice as firm as he could.  "I didn't want to draw my weapon on you, but you seem to encourage that, firing on people from behind…"  
  
"Lieutenant Sindai thought it'd be priority to make sure you were sedated," the man called Karsh said, glancing to the crimson-haired swordsman at his side.  "Since it isn't a lethal element, I saw no harm."  
  
"Yeah, it really doesn't matter how the other guy interprets a behind-the-back snipe," Serge said coldly, not once stepping back.  "You're a Dragoon Deva and you let your own officers ambush people- oh, wait, my vocab's slow, it's 'sedate.'"  
  
The girl's eyes flashed with chilling silver, but Karsh said all he needed to.  "I didn't march across a whole damn island to be lectured on morals by a dead toddler," Karsh said acridly.  "Now, listen, junior, it's no use trying to fight.  There's no escape behind you, unless you're a high-diver with iron skin.  All you have to do is come with us…we're going to let you live."  
  
Armor clanked behind him, suddenly, and the skinny axeman sidled up to Karsh.  "But, Sir Karsh... do you think it is truly true that this chap is a ghost?" he said, with a voice so congested and stupid that Serge wanted to offer him a tissue.  "He seems like a perfectly perfect young boy to me..."  
  


"That doesn't matter," Karsh replied, resting his axe on his shoulder.  "We found the boy here, just as "he" said we would, didn't we?"

_He?_  Serge furrowed his brow, glancing down to Exeter a moment before looking back to Karsh.  As if things weren't already disturbing, someone had followed them here- or rather, known they'd be here.  Sending five soldiers out after one boy must have come from somebody higher up, he figured- yet, there wasn't anybody high enough.  Acacia had fallen years before in the war, hadn't they?  Exeter was living proof of that.  

  
Karsh certainly didn't think so.  "Mintaka, Sindai, disarm them," he said, glancing from the girl to the fencer.  "Try to be gentle with the boy- you can be a little rough with blondie there if he puts up a fight."

"With pleasure," Sindai said, resting a gloved hand on his rapier.  He walked forward with the still-silent girl, looking towards Exeter and shaking his head.  "The swordsman looks remarkably like that Exeter fellow down in Arni.  Wonder if it's a fad that hasn't died yet- what would you think, fair lady?"  
  
"Save your breath," Mintaka said to him calmly, her focus entirely on Serge.  "Lay down your weapon and you won't get hurt.  We're not going to try and kill you."  
  
_Yeah, tell me that when you're not carrying a saw on a chain._  Serge stood his ground in front of the panting Exeter, increasing the tightness with which he held the Swallow.  He breathed easily, letting his body both relax and tense, preparing to both accept and respond at the same time, as Exeter had taught him so many times.  He was not confident, though- he only had a few elements allocated with his Sea Swallow, and he'd never been able to test his fighting abilities out on multiple opponents before; his only practice had come from hunting water lizards on the beaches of Arni, and they were a far toss from professional Acacia Dragoons.

I have no choice, though…Ex isn't at his full strength.  I'll have to fight them off until he stands up again- damn it, but five on two…!?

They were coming.  Serge let his knees bend- he had no choice…

_Serge_.

"Hold yer damn horses!"

His head perked.  The voice in his head and the voice that rang out through Cape Howl belonged to the exact same person.  His eyes sparkled and flashed as he looked up and to his left, and he already knew all eyes were following his.  On one of the pillars of dead coral on the cliffs, closest to the one that held the grave, a vision was standing.  

His vision.

Gold and red wrapped in sparse amount around a langly figure with dark white flesh, pure white splotches decorating its figure.  It was a young girl, with long blonde hair and eyes so blue that Serge could see into them even from twenty feet away.  She wore a cropped white shirt and a short gold-and-red jacket, matched by a short skirt of the same style and color.  Purple beads hung around her long neck, her head topped with a ponytail that was neat but a crown of hair that was wild and loose.  She wore old hiking shoes and dirty socks that were too small for her age of 16 or 17.  White paint striped over her cheeks and forearms, a reckless smile etched on her face.  She was pretty enough, though the dagger attached to the front of her skirt implied something much nastier and suggestive.

Serge felt the cuts on his hand and leg go numb.  Her spitting image- it was the girl from his dream.

"Who the...?" Karsh muttered, his red eyes glittering.  "Sorry, toots, but I'm not with the Charity Militia or anything- get your scraps at Arni or some other shithole."  
  
The girl spat crudely, and her legs bounded forward from the pillar in a quick jump.  If Serge hadn't already been agape, he would have been then- she bounded through the air in just one leap that carried her from the top of the pillar, all the way over the Dragoons' heads, and to the cracked ground in front of him.  Her feet made a little clutter against the dead earth, causing her to stumble once, but she was back in a perfect stance in the matter of a second.

She turned her head up and smiled at him, and it was the most frightening thing he'd ever seen.  A dream had come to life.

"Impressive, mm?" she said, tossing him a two-finger salute from her forehead.  She clapped her hands to her hips and turned back to face the gathering soldiers.  "Well, I think my mate 'ere has a point- you shouldn't be shootin' off elements at people from behind…it just ain't good manners, is it?"

  
Sindai blinked.  "Who the hell's this-"  
  
"_Hottie_," Exeter cut in.  

Serge forced a chuckle; he could practically hear Exeter grin.  The girl glanced back to them with a smug smirk and a wink, causing Serge to blush for some strange reason.  It didn't really matter to him how flirty she was, though- dream or not, he was glad she'd shown up.  _Odds are a little more even now…_

"Outta the way, missy!" Karsh said, his anger belying an accent that he'd tried to cover up.  "You don't wanna get hurt, now, do you?"  
  
The girl turned back to him and snorted.  "Shut yer trap!  You're the ones who'd betta get outta the way- or else we're going to cut that pretty hair of yers!"  
  
Serge's grin was a little less forced now- he thought he saw a spark fly between Karsh's teeth.  Exeter was laughing.  "Oh, I like your act, honey," he managed.

The fat axeman waddled forward, shaking his weapon towards the girl.  "...you have a problem!?" he wheezed haughtily.  "Do you have a _shakin'_ idea who you're dealing with, missy?"

"Hmm…"  The girl tapped her chin, as if in thought.  "One walkin' pork rind, one greasy twig, one coward who don't use enough shampoo, one bloomin' feminist.  Oh, yeah!  And one of Nikki's melon-headed side dishes who really needs a haircut!"

All of the dragoons looked more or less insulted- and fumed.  Serge couldn't help a snicker there.  

Karsh, however, was a little less appreciative of the humor.  "That's enough!" he shouted.  "Listen up, junior!  Our orders are to take you in.  We don't wanna hurt you.  Just come with us.  Or else…well…"  He let the axe fall from his shoulder to his other hand, holding it by the dull edge to let the wan light of the sunset fall over its blade.  "This axe o' mine will have to do the talkin'."

The girl rolled her eyes.  "For cryin' out loud...would ya just shut up and get on with it?" she said, sighing dramatically.  Directly after, though, she fell into a defensive stance and put up her fists.  "Oh, yeah…get ready, boys and girls.  I'm gonna kick yer sorry arses so hard you'll kiss the moons!"  
  


Exeter appeared by the girl's side, hefting his long blade up.  "Come at me in whatever numbers you'd like," he said, still panting.  "I may be sapped, but I'll have no problem taking off some of your limbs…"  
  
Karsh chuckled darkly, brushing a hand over his axe's edge.  "You leave me no choice, then," he said quietly.  "Mintaka, take the girl.  Shaker Brothers, you provide cover- I'll deal with junior over there.  Sindai, disarm the swordsman."  
  
"Hah!  Crappy orders if I ever heard 'em, girly!" the girl snapped.  "All right, I'll take yer little playmate here and shove my foot up her arse!"

Mintaka's eyes narrowed to icy slits, but her lip twisted in a wry grin.  "Tell me," she asked, "what can one little girl wearing a red diaper do to a Dragoon?  Safety pin me to death?"  
  
The girl turned her glare towards the chain fighter.  "Oh, this's the meanest safety pin you're ever gonna see, lady," she said, gripping the dagger's hilt.  "Try not to bleed on me, it does horrors for my skin!"  
  
"As though I could cause any other horror to that terrible tan of yours," Mintaka said smugly.

Serge thought he saw the girl's ponytail shoot straight up- probably just the wind.  "Oooh, I'm gonna make you eat those words," she growled, "along with a real big chunk of yer boyfriend's purple hair!"  
  


Exeter only snorted to the whole escapade, sidling his impressive blade over one supple though weakened shoulder as he looked to the one opponent who boasted a sword.  "So, I get the leftover scrub of hair gel and sass mouth.  What's your name again, friend?" he asked, wryly grinning to his opponent.

The other returned the grin with a smirk, drawing the long, thin sword in his belt.  He whipped the rapier out to his other side, and positioned himself towards it so as to face the taller swordsman from his right, his left arm cocked back to hold the blade up vertically in the most curious stance.  "You may call me Sindai.  I'm the third best swordsman of the Acacia Dragoons- that means there's only two other people in the world that are better than me, 'friend', and you aren't one of them."  
  
Serge looked from the mysterious girl to Exeter for a moment, and found the blonde man rolling his eyes.  "Well!  Excuse me while I take up the matter of introduction myself- specifically, introducing my Murakumo here to your ass," he said, gesturing to his long tachi.  "My name is Exeter, and I hope you can get used to the fascinating world of eating squid gut pasta through a straw."  
  


"Exeter?  You?"  Sindai chuckled.  "You have an unhealthy obsession, porridgehead.  I'm _real_ impressed with the most overused sword in the book, too.  If I had a gold piece for every time some beach-boy worshipper whipped out a big katana on me, Mintaka and I could finally buy a little island paradise and settle down."  
  
Mintaka looked to the wilder bunch with a twisted lip, and muttered, "he does not represent me, just so you know..."

Exeter's lip curled to bare gnashed teeth.  "_Porridgehead_?!  You little...snobgoblin...harem boy!" he shouted, putting emphasis on each word.  "Sniping me from behind and then mouthing off about how you're the best swordsman in the world…I'll turn that fat mouth into !"

Sindai literally spat.  "Keep jiving about the food puns, blubberlord.  It will make it utterly sweet when I valorously slay you in the honor of my frail and maidenly Mintaka!"

As Mintaka groaned, Exeter hung his free arm low, easing into a relaxed stance.  "My skin is a silk sheet compared to that shag carpet of yours," he said.  "And only llamas and ether chewers spit, and you don't look much like an ether chewer to me."  
  
"Llamas are a sacred beast of the Earth Dragon, you badly-shaven lump of feces," Sindai said smoothly.  "I'll school you like I'll school the firstborn I have with my dear dragoon lady!"

  
"Go ahead, prove that mankind and beasts of burden _can_ interbreed!" Exeter said.

Serge was befuddled at the words of the two- he wondered if his ears would start bleeding anytime soon- and he watched as the smaller dragoon reared himself up to a higher stance.  "Well then, now that you have insulted my lady's honor, I'll have to neuter you _like_ a beast of burden!" Sindai said.  
  
"_I am not your lady_-" Mintaka gritted out, wide-eyed, but her fuming was curtailed by Karsh's loud grunt.

"Bloody can it already, I'm sick of this!" Karsh raged, obviously not waiting for the blonde swordsman to reply with another barb.  Bringing his axe up to hold its deadly edge out, the purple-haired man strode forward across the long stone road ahead of him with purpose.  Serge found his eyes, imbued with defiance and challenge, as though infuriated by the sudden appearance of the mysterious girl that now stepped in front of Serge.  He watched her langly arms fiddle at her skirt for a moment, and then heard the ominous unsheathing of something small and metal.  A dagger flashed in her palm, and, without even needing to look at her, Serge could see the look of challenge in her own blue irises.

"Bring it on, chums!"  She flipped the dagger in her hand and caught it for the proper position, blade down and edge out.  "I'm goin' to take you all out right here!  And you can take _that_ back to your old General Viper, coot that he is!"  
  
_Viper!?  This..._

It occured to Serge, then, that he was a long way from home.  Leena did not know him, Arni did not know him, his mother was gone, Viper was still alive...and, most unsettling of all, there was that most ominous tombstone that declared him dead.  He sagged under the relatively light weight of the Swallow, barely feeling anything as he slid it to his side unconsciously.  He felt a lump against his palm- the piece of his gravestone he'd picked up was still there.  Idly he slid it into his pocket, the painful reminder that he was 'dead' now.

This...my world is...upside-down...

"Hey, hey mate!"  
  
He looked up again to see the girl with her head turned over her shoulder, and was shocked to find a smile on her face.  It blossomed into a reckless grin, and she gave him a very quick nudge on the chin with the pommel of her dagger.  "Stay behind me if you're feelin' weak...watch me send these buggers to the bloody moons!"  She winked once, gave him another smile, then turned it to face the oncoming trio.  Then, defying everything he'd come to expect from girls, she raised her dagger again and took herself into a fast stride to the dragoons.

It wasn't until she was gone, and Exeter was moving with her, that Serge realized the gravity of what was happening.  They were both going to fight for him...

"You're in a pretty bad spot.  But, as fortune favors, everyone else is in it with you."

The Nameless's words echoed in his mind again, but this time, Serge did not bow his head and break.  If he had to see two people- one of them a total stranger at that- charge into battle with unfair odds for his sake, he preferred to make those odds much better.  He gripped the Swallow edge and straightened up again, and before he knew it, he was running forward with them.  He was in the center, the girl on his left and Exeter on his right, and the fight was set.  

Serge's gaze locked with Karsh, who raised his axe and screamed high and crazily in the rush of battle.  "You're mine, junior!" the axeman shouted.

Serge only set his jaw, and just before they clashed, raised his double-edged weapon in return.  "You people want a ghost?  I'll _give_ you your damn ghost!"


	6. Mergings

Still not as proud of this chapter as I could be. Then again, thirty pages of battle was a monster I dropped on my own plate. All the same, I think I cleaned it up some...enjoy!

* * *

  


Chapter V : Mergings  
_Cape Howl, El Nido 02, 1020 A.D._

I'd ask someone to tell me what the hell is going on, but that would probably be detrimental...

The blades of Serge's Swallow were composed of lion shark bone, said to be on equal strength with bronze so as to support the immense size of the creature, and the handle was bronze-crafted too. Yet even bronze was a flimsy metal, and as the chalk-white blade met Karsh's steel axe, the difference in cutting power became clear. Serge braced himself against the ground, pushing against Karsh's taller mass, and sorely wished for the Swallow to become steel or mythril. Karsh was taller, physically stronger than he was, and if he had only a weapon with equal cutting power, Serge could possibly match him.

But, as it was, Karsh's initial blow had chipped the top edge of the Swallow and driven him back against the cliff. Serge held his weapon with one hand close to each blade, pressing the right end up against Karsh's axe as his legs braced against the floor. He could feel the mist of the ocean whip against his back and he knew he was far too close to the edge to break the lock with Karsh. Karsh gripped his weapon with both supple arms, his hair wild and free in the sea breeze. His eerie eyes, dashed crimson, were narrow and cold, his minuscule lips smooth and set. His fine white robe rippled with the wind and gave Serge the impression of wings beginning to flutter.

If Serge knew what angels looked like, he'd have bet Karsh to be an avenging one.

Backed against my own grave. I can't even look to Ex or the dream girl- Gods, don't think about that, don't think about the dream at a time like this!

"Tch! You're pretty resilient, but that ain't saving you, junior," Karsh said. "You're all skin and bones! At least have _some_ muscle."

Serge gnashed his teeth, his double grip on the Swallow relentless. "I...didn't...come here...to get a lecture...from a Magical Dreamers reject!"

Karsh flushed with red and broke away. Serge stumbled, overbalanced, and ducked his head just seconds before the double-bladed axe swiped for his neck. Karsh gave a louder cry and swiped the axe again, low and hard. Serge rose up to his full height and twisted in, pushing the bottom blade of the Swallow down to meet the axe. More of the bone chipped as they clashed. Serge twisted around, pushing his legs against the cracked earth, and brought his Swallow around with him to give a fierce stab towards Karsh's chest. Purple hair rippled again as Karsh sidestepped him, and Serge's muscles clenched even before the blow came.

"Unnh!" Serge's body shuddered as the flat of the axe slammed viciously between his shoulderblades, forcing him to topple. He hit the ground, and winced as pebbles and dirt raked into his flesh. The air stirred above him. His eyes shot open and he rolled again to the side as Karsh's axe split the earth where his head had been. His stomach went cold for a moment before the tip of Karsh's boot plunged against it, lifting his body a complete inch above the ground. Coughing heavily, he rolled again, hearing the clash of steel from the battling females. He heard nothing from Exeter's area, although he was too busy coughing to truly notice.

Getting my ass kicked already, on my own grave. My grave, my own damn grave...

It was difficult for him to grasp that the tombstone behind Karsh's looming figure was his own. Though if he didn't figure out how to balance something between them, and fast, that was going to be a rudimentary process. Serge dug the tip of his Swallow against the ground and climbed up to his feet with it, still winded from the sharp kick Karsh had given him. He glared at the Dragoon, and received only a smirk in return. He wiped at his scratched-up cheek- nothing was quite so infuriating as wanting to kick the crap out of someone and not having the ability to.

Karsh sidled his long axe over his shoulder, flashing Serge a rakehell grin. "Magical Dreamers reject, that's funny, junior. You know, I bet you and Nikki would make a great couple. He's about as girly as you."

_He's distracting you. Calm yourself or you'll get killed, whether or not he's trying. Think of the power that lies within you. You are a lightbringer. You possess the powers of light. Light can nurture clarity, but a sudden flare will reduce it to total darkness. If you can hit him once, if you can even graze him- if you can establish a physical connection between your powers- the Elements will come to you._

Technique wouldn't work, he realized. Serge had only been using his Swallow for six, maybe seven years, compared to Karsh's obviously greater experience. He knew enough about their respective weapons to know that while his Swallow made for more athletic movement and quick, precise cuts, Karsh's axe had far more control and superior cutting strength. Even drawing on what Exeter had taught him, Serge knew he couldn't make techniques right off the bat or fall back on ones he'd learned. There was only one that he knew that might work, actually, but Karsh would be a fool if he gave him the opening he needed.

And he's buff as hell, and I work out by lifting up big fishing rods- I'm pretty screwed here.

Serge glanced at the beads- Talismans, they were called- dangling from one end of his weapon. His Elements were perhaps his only shot at taking this guy down; it was cheap, but this was a kidnapping, and there was no honor in kidnapping. People were also depending on him, and damned if he was going to let the dream girl and Exeter die so soon. He could take a couple more hits, he had at least a Tablet or two packed along with him. He'd hit this guy. And then he'd light a powder keg under his ass. He took a deep breath and bent his legs, gripping the Swallow firmly in both hands.

"Yeah, go on," Serge said. "Call me a girl, call me a ghost...but there are fine lines between girls, ghosts, and lightbringers. You're facing a lightbringer, you...you...ass goblin!"

'Ass goblin'? Ex, what are you doing to me?

Karsh stared. "...did you just call me an ass goblin! You son o-"

_The hell with it. Go, now!_

Serge raised the Swallow and lunged forward, his left hand positioned just under one of the blades and the other gripping the center of the weapon. Karsh immediately slipped his axe off his shoulder, but Serge had already moved before then. To Karsh it would have looked like he was going to go for a straight-down slash, but Serge had come to appreciate all aspects of the Swallow- both edges, all curves, all twists, the grip that was custom-fitted to his touch by Chief Radius himself. There was not a part of the weapon he did not know.

That included the fact that the blade he wasn't touching was far lighter.

He stabbed in with the blade nearest to Karsh, and another clang sounded out from Karsh's vicious block. As he locked edges with the Swallow again, Karsh twisted the axe so as to bat the edge off course, and swiftly spun with a triumphant cry- just as Serge flipped the lighter blade in for a horizontal cut of his own. Karsh's axe came around as the Swallow weaved on a straight return arc, and Serge bent his legs to increase the power of the blow. He felt air whip against his head as the axe came flying over, catching his bandana and tearing it from Serge's head. Serge had a half second to grit his teeth and then left it all up to the wind.

"Aagh!"

His stomach uplifted with triumph, blood growing in a wet sliver on Karsh's right side. The dragoon cursed so loudly that seagulls cawed in response. Serge's light blade carved a thin red line just under his ribs, not enough to pierce any vital spots but enough to shed blood. Karsh's axe flashed again, but Serge had already stepped back and away, tugging in his Swallow in a defensive stance. Karsh brought the axe all the way up and slashed down in a vertical cut, Serge took it on the left blade of his weapon with a dull ring, and then he seesawed the Swallow, bringing the other edge forward in a sweeping horizontal cut. Karsh crooked his arm and yanked back, the pommel of the axe batting the blade away with enough force to ensure Serge would not repeat the move. Grunting, Serge skidded back against the ground and instead twirled his weapon, catching a flash of light from the little Talismans that hung at the end of the blade.

_I feel them...Elements! Charged!_ He felt like grinning. If he hadn't been facing a Dragoon Deva, he might have done so.

Karsh gripped his axe and raised it quickly, but Serge took initiative first. He put his left foot forward in a heavy lunge, swiping from his left to bring the lighter blade of the Swallow up in a diagonal cleave. With a war cry, Karsh swung his axe down to meet it, the massive strength of the blow chipping more of the Swallow's bone blade. Serge did not let relent on the lock, however, and grasped the other end of the Swallow with his right hand, pressing the shaft into his right hip. It acted like a lever against his own body, and he saw that Karsh's attacking arm was now straining with the lock. Serge grit his teeth and bent his legs, forcing his body to work to the limit.

Karsh glanced down at him out of the corner of his eye, a wry but wild grin on his handsome face. "Well, junior...you've got class at least! Can't say anyone's cut me like that in a couple years! Too bad I gotta bring ya in, I could tangle with you all day."

Serge didn't return the grin. "I'd believe that- your hair looks like it gets tangled a lot!"

"Tch! You talk too much," Karsh said, his voice straining but his strength seeming to double. "This technique's pathetic! You're just trying to use both ends of your weapon to try to surprise me...well, guess what, mine's got two sides, too."

And without any warning, he spun his blade, locked the opposite edge with Serge's, and it slid a whole inch into the Swallow.

Serge's eyes went wide, and he found the Swallow handle pressing back painfully into his sternum, forcing him back. "Wh...what the hell...did you just-"

"There's an old saying my father used to tote around," Karsh said. "'Don't be fast. Just don't waste time.' You're wasting time. You press in too much, trying to strain my wrist- you stuck-up little shit! Face the facts- physically, you're _nothing_ compared to me!"

He gave a violent push and yanked back, his axe pulling out of Serge's blade with a chink. He spun, his hair shimmering elegantly in the wind, and as he drew it along, the blade swiped out in a horizontal axis. Agape, Serge caught it on the handle as he reeled back, his ears ringing with the squeal of metal on metal. He eased back off his left foot, his heart pounding with the motion, and drew in his left blade towards his left bicep, ready to cut with his right. But Karsh was not through. The Dragoon's spin took him around, and the dying sunlight flashed off the axe's blade just as it came up, swiping diagonally, and then down, as Karsh lunged forward and slashed the axe onto Serge's left blade-

-which cut neatly in two.

_Oh shit oh shit oh shit aaaah!_

Serge cried out as the axe tore through, chopping into his left arm. His bicep seemed to gush with crimson, and it was only his movement to the right and the force of the Swallow edge breaking that saved his arm from being severed. He felt Karsh's blade rake against something solid in his arm, and bit his lower lip as hard as he could, until it, too, began to bleed. The axe slid out with a disgusting, squishy sound, and then Karsh leaned forward and threw up his left fist to punch Serge in the jaw. Pain exploded in his head, and Serge was spun around, landing hard on his left arm. Dirt and rocks ground into the wound. More blood streamed down Serge's chin and elbow.

"Gods, gods...gods...damn it," Serge said, feeling as though he were about to vomit. Desperately, he grabbed the Swallow with his right hand, forcing himself to roll onto his right side- everything was still blurry after that last punch. He hugged his left arm to his body, coming up now on his knees-

-and then Karsh's foot _slammed_ into his shoulder, and stomped his arm against the ground.

"Aah!" Serge could not hold in a shout, his bicep on fire with pain. Karsh's boot was weighted- it felt like a brick had been dropped on his arm. Pebbles and dirt ground into the cut as Karsh crushed it into the ground, and Serge could barely hold back a second scream, squeezing his eyes shut. The pain intensified as Karsh leaned forward, nudging the axe's blade against Serge's cheek.

"I'll be happy to accept your unconscious surrender," Karsh said. "Or I could be more extreme, too...my orders say nothing about having to keep your limbs attached to your body. I don't wanna have to hurt ya, kid- you're just a 'ghost', after all. I got nothing else against you, even if you are a punk. Give up now and I'll even put your buddies down easily. So...what's it gonna be?"

Serge said nothing.

Karsh sighed, tapping the axe against his opponent's cheek again, and then raised it. "Suit yourself, junior! I just hope you're not a screamer-"

Serge tightened his scarred palm around the Swallow. "_Photon Ray_."

Heat seemed to well up from the ground, wreathing his body in white and sea green light. Then an uncomfortable sizzle ran up Serge's arm, and he swung it up and behind his shoulder, and a melon-sized orb of light pumped from one Talisman on the Swallow. It charged like electricity down his arm, gathering with a high-pitched whine into a pulsating ball of what looked like photons dancing in his palm. Giving Karsh no time to react, Serge summoned his strength and swung his arm all the way back, palm wide open-

-and his muscles received the kick of a lifetime as a shimmering white laser _speared_ from his palm into Karsh's chest.

Serge craned his head up and around just in time to see Karsh's face go wide, and then widen further in a cry of pain as the concentrated laser found his chest. White fire scorched his bare flesh, photons visibly flaring in a circle of white, like a shockwave that lit up the afternoon. Karsh cried out, the impact lifting his body from the from the rocks and dropping him a whole three feet from where he once stood. Shouting curses, he rolled onto his stomach and grabbed at his chest, his body shaking with pain.

Serge dug his Swallow's dull blade into the ground and forced himself up to his knees. Blood continued to trickle from his arm. He winced, guessing the elemental charge had not been powerful enough to cauterize it. That was a shame, it hurt so much...

His head swam, but his eyes locked onto something lying on the ground before him- his bandana. Casting a quick glance back at Karsh, he reached over and grabbed it with his good hand. Serge bit his bleeding lip again and set down the Swallow just long enough to tie the bandana around his gashed arm. He tightened it, then picked up his weapon again.

Blunt edge or not, the tables just turned- take him out!

Serge twisted his head and saw Karsh getting up to his feet. His back was turned. It had to be now or never. He flipped his weapon in his hands until the blunt edge faced out towards Karsh, and then he lifted it to eye level. He stepped forward with a lunge, sucking in and growling as he stabbed it forward at the back of Karsh's head-

"Go Peppor!"

Serge braced his right leg, stopping himself before he connected. Peppor? Who's Pep- oh, no.

From the ground, light welled up around his body. Serge felt it shine over his skin for one moment, and then grunted as pressure was suddenly placed on his head. He saw a black mist of some kind taint his vision, causing him to shut his eyes. The tainted light overtook him, tightening on his temples until they throbbed. Images flashed into his mind- his Swallow lying broken on the ground beside a fallen Exeter, lying in a pool of his own blood. The girl was there with him, unmoving with numerous gash wounds across her body. Above it all was the image of his body, broken and battered, being dragged off by the Dragoons.

A vision...no! An Element...Weakminded. That brings the power of doubt, to cloud judgment and elemental power- Gods, stop showing me these things! That's not going to happen!

The pressure became too much for him to bear, and he fell to one knee. Through hazy vision, he saw the source of the attack- the tall skinny guy with the halberd and the short fat one with the axe. The fat one had his free arm clasped, so it was he who had charged the Element. The skinny one was clapping his hands, laughing to his teammate.

"You did an incredibly incredible job with that Element there, Peppor!" the skinny one said. "How stupidly stupid of him, to not see that coming!"

"Damn shakin', Solt!" The fat one, Peppor, sidled his axe again. "Hah, you're pretty good, kid, but we can't let Sir Karsh be defeated here! Just give up already- our lady Mintaka's kicking the spice out of the little girl over there, and your wannabe pal there doesn't stand a chance either!"

Karsh had gotten to his feet by now. His chest smoldered, the flesh almost charred beneath, but his grin suggested anything but pain. Then his eyes darkened and he walked forward. Panting, Serge dug his blunt edge into the ground, and forced himself up again. He staggered, but drew up his weapon again. Cocking it back, he cut forward, but to little avail. Karsh's returning swipe swung him all the way around again, and then Serge doubled over as a fist planted in his gut. He wheezed, eyelids fluttering- that didn't help the lightheadedness he was feeling. He wobbled, then Karsh tapped his chin with the flat of the axe, and his left fist shot up violently under Serge's jaw. Serge staggered back before it could strike, but it still clipped his chin. His head snapped to the side, his legs went rubbery, and he collapsed onto his side.

"If I gotta beat an 'I give up' outta you, oh, I certainly will," Karsh said. "Give it up, you're outmatched in elemental and physical skill. Look at you! Your weapon's broken, you're bleeding, and you're moaning like a damn Termina whore! Give the hell up already!"

Serge lay still, the pain rocketing through him. He gasped, his voice light, and he realized fleetingly that it was still changing. He did sound like a girl. That beckoned a whole flood of images to besiege him- having his voice made fun of was not something new to him. He saw Jowi and Prisk, two of his childhood bullies, making fun of his voice, making little kissy faces at him, beating him to a pulp and then drawing lipstick and eyeliner all over his face. Leena and Exeter had never seen that instant, but the memory was still horrible. He was a guy, he wasn't supposed to look like a girl, and if a guy looked like a girl, he was supposed to be treated as a girl- as the lowest kind of girl there was. That was the message that Jowi and Prisk had drilled into him with their knuckles. A dumb, pointless bullying, he'd forgotten all about it, they'd long since made up, but still it _hurt so much_-

The Weakminded element was doing this to him- no, it was making it worse. Every instant where he had been mocked now hurt just as much as it had then. He choked back a sob. He jolted as Karsh's foot rammed into his side, and rolled him over onto his other one, and felt salty water welling up under his eyelids. _Am I this weak...? I can't be so pathetic, so disgusting. I'm stronger than this...why does it have to hurt so much?_

Karsh stepped in front of him, brandishing his axe. Serge realized he was now stuck between Karsh and Solt and Peppor. Skill on one end, elements on the other. They wanted to finish this with him.

Serge sucked in a deep gulp of air, and used his Swallow to get to one knee. Whether it was his voice, his dirty memories, or his present situation, something had to change. Fast.

* * *

Now this was a party.

Kid had been taught not to disturb the rest of the dead, but then, if she had to be stuck in a hole for the rest of time, she'd sure appreciate a little background music. Granted, this was background music with a bunch of people swinging sharp things at each other, but it wasn't like that didn't happen at Nikki concerts when a drunk got out of line and started taking swings with a switchblade.

It was a hell of a lot easier to dodge one of those, though. Kid tilted her hips to the side and yelped as the long chain-spear shot by her thigh and punctured the raw earth, adding yet another note to this vivacious dirge. She spun again as it pulled back in a return slash, and skidded along the cracked ground with dagger shifted to her right hand. Barely a full minute into the fight and she was already having to dodge an assault from the female Dragoon. Despite the handicap of fighting with a dagger, Kid was confident in her abilities- she should have been able to take down the other woman by now.

Then again, I haven't gotten wild enough to start using my Elements. And I don't want her to get past me to this guy...oi! Things'd be so much easier if it were just the one of me. I could kick all their rears and walk away, laughing off any cuts they put on me! I'm the invincible Kid! But no, poor blue boy has to fix me with those pearly whites and beg for my help. Oh, I'm such a sucker for a pretty face like his and YIKES that almost went where the sun don't shine!

Kid hit the ground on her shoulder and rolled to the other side, the slash of the chain-spear hacking through the air behind her. She came up on her legs again and turned, her single braid lashing against her neck from the swiftness of it. Mintaka was drawing back her chain-spear, eyes stern and cold. Never minding the odd weapon she wielded, Kid imagined it would be hell trying to pierce that armor she was wearing, anyway. It clung to her figure and looked pretty light, but then again, so did her dagger. It looked like that armor was steel, too, and the dagger Kid had was made of ivory tusk. No way would she be able to penetrate.

She glanced beside her to the two men she'd "rescued". They were both in a fix, as she was- Exeter circled Sindai, who still remained in that peculiar stance. Serge likewise kept his distance from the purple-haired axeman, Karsh, who already looked as though he were pumped and powered up to throw out an Element. Kid wondered fleetingly if her two impromptu allies had any Elements equipped, and if they even knew how to use them. Assuming they did, they had a good chance. Assuming they didn't...

Um...then they can kick Karsh's ass and I'll do the special effects for them!

Kind of farfetched logic, but she could fetch pretty far. Kid looked back to Mintaka and found the dragoon twirling the blade of her chain spear, her helmet tipped down enough to cast a cold shadow over her eyes. Kid gave her own dagger a little spin in her fingers, the sea breeze doing much to calm her nerves. She still flushed with her eyes wide and wild- she'd never learned any particular style of knife-fighting, and, bloody hell, she didn't need one. She kicked the _crap_ out of people and this uptight ultra-feminist wasn't going to be any different.

"That all you got, girlie?" Kid asked. "I've tangled with wild poodles that kicked more ass!"

Mintaka's lips curved up, just slightly. "As if it hasn't been blatantly obvious already," she said, "my _chijikiri_ has been within inches of cutting that flesh you've so stupidly left bare all over you. You know the funny thing? I'm not even trying."

Kid gathered the chibikitty, or whatever it was, was the chain-spear thing. "If you ain't tryin', that'll just make my job easier. And you'll get yer ass served up on a plate with all the trimmin's!"

"Tch. You don't even have any armor, much less a good Elemental bead on your dagger." Mintaka gave her weapon a quick twirl, and bent her legs until she was in a half-crouch, waving the long chain like a lasso. "Come on, little girl. Maybe you'll get away with only a limb or two missing."

Kid smirked. "You're right. I'm gonna break my foot off in yer arse!"

She ran forward, pumping her legs to take her into a sprint. It was a short distance to cover to get into attacking range, but the faster she charged the faster she could stab. She was sure one of the hinges in Mintaka's breastplate would bare at least a little skin. The armor would slow her down, too, whereas Kid's ensemble gave her much more freedom to move. That and it did turn a lot of heads.

She went for a strong attack, flipping her dagger in her hand until the blade pointed down and out. She skidded to a halt in front of the weaving Mintaka and rose up to the taller girl's height in a jump, her slashing arm tightening for a hard uppercut. Mintaka's chijikiri whipped up above her head, ready for a strike, but Kid had chosen her target area well. Even though she missed the chest, the ivory blade slid along the right hinge of Mintaka's breastplate, even raking a chink against the edge of the steel breastplate. Kid felt something warm yield to the dagger and her stomach flushed with success. Her leap completed and a trickle of blood ran down her fingers. Something whipped in the air above her and she threw herself to the side again, the sound of the chijikiri sawing against the rock mixing with a clash of metal on metal from the other combatants.

Kid rose to her full height again and smirked at Mintaka, who clutched her bleeding right shoulder. "Armor don't matter, toots," she said. "I'm smaller than you, sure, but I'm quicker and I can get under that big lasso of yers without breakin' a sweat. You're god-damn lucky I didn't make that an inward stab or you'd be beggin' for a slit throat right now."

"It's a flesh wound," Mintaka said, tucking in her arm. "Well...you're a little faster than I thought. Then I guess..." Her chijikiri whipped up again in her left arm, the saw edge seeming to cleave through the sun. "I'll just start hacking at you from far away!"

Kid peered up at the saw tooth blade and stepped aside, grinning. "Golly, mate, thanks fer tellin' me yer plan _ahead of time_ so I can predict exactly what you're gonna do!"

Mintaka tugged and the chijikiri changed direction.

_...Aww!_

Kid's legs bent and she crouched as the saw-tooth blade hooked around in a scything motion. Her dagger came up and she felt something heavy slide against it, and then stinging warmth blazed over her forearm. She gasped, but didn't bother clutching her arm; she charged in again, shunning the embarrassment she felt from having overestimated an opponent. Mintaka's supple arms gave the chijikiri another harsh tug up, and the chain whipped like a snake to send another vicious swipe in Kid's direction. A horizontal one this time, and much harder to dodge for that; the chain had to be at least six feet in full length, counting blades. Kid was barely just outside that range, and she felt her sole slide dangerously close to the slope of the cliff.

She leaned forward and fell into a roll towards her opponent, feeling the blade hit her flailing braid and hack off the tip. Kid was pissed before she'd even tucked her head in, and she tumbled forward with the dagger held ready for another swift uppercut. Mintaka had her arms tucked towards her chest from the swing, leaving only her armored abdomen to face Kid's line of attack. Kid decided against the uppercut and instead hooked her arm back and stabbed forward, digging the ivory blade violently against the front of Mintaka's armor, against her side. The dagger jittered in its handle, but it would hold- it had a good enough hilt pin job to ensure it could stand a little more than this.

Mintaka winced, sending a pang of success to Kid- the tip hadn't penetrated at all, but the impact had done its job. Kid gave a quick cry and took one step back, then sent her left foot into a sharp kick at Mintaka's right knee. Her boot connected with only light metal there, and beneath it there was a shudder of bone hitting bone. Mintaka yelped and went down on that knee, but before she could whip her chijikiri back, Kid clapped her shoulder with her free hand and gave a hop. Her legs left the ground and swung to the left, and she pivoted on her hand to perform an athletic leap over Mintaka's kneeling body. Her legs hit the ground, and she turned with a horizontal swipe that was level with Mintaka's head.

Aim for the armor, hem of the plate, but don't kill-

Her ivory edge again struck home. Kid cut against the top hem of Mintaka's breastplate, seeing a spark actually fly from the vicious cut. The armor rattled again, not yielding to the much weaker ivory blade, but the hinges of it started to twist. Kid was getting results. Mintaka gasped in pain as her armor shook against her body, but before Kid could strike again, she tucked in her shoulder and rolled away. Kid stepped back as she did so, and stole a quick glance at her dagger.

_I felt a different kind of breeze when I hit her, kind of like a twinkle- she must be Green innate. Two beads already lit- green, that's Bushwhacker, ew, and the red must be Magma Bomb. Damn, none are yellow! Shoulda bought the Electro Jolt from Lisa when I had the chance...okay, think, think. She's getting back up, oh, shit! I don't even know her innate, don't even know if she has any elements stocked. Maybe I can beat it out of h-_

Mintaka spun around and both ends of the chain came flying at Kid. Her reverie ended, and Kid yelped as the cruelly twisted chijikiri lashed to her legs. A sense of tunnel vision came over her as the saw-tooth blade and the weighted chain flew at her; jumping would get her ankles hacked and rolling would take her too close to the cliff. Kid turned to her only option and arched back, sucking in her stomach and kicking her legs up for a quick cartwheel backwards- holding the dagger caused her knuckle to rake against the ground and she was sure she was getting too close to the cliff's edge, but it bought her some time and if she could mount a charge right after she came up from the evasion-

"Acacia Chain Blade technique, _Ravenous_!"

Kid gaped as Mintaka seemed to explode with her empowering scream, her blue hair rippling in the wind created by the technique she unleashed. Her body danced with the long chijikiri weapon, her arms twirling its chain to send the long saw-tooth edge spiraling around her, forming rapid-paced cross cuts as Mintaka twisted with it. Kid bit down on her lip and took a quick step back, and cried out as a rock gave way underneath her. The cartwheel had taken her too far and now Mintaka had her at the precipice.

Get off your feet and do something quick-

She chewed her lip and turned to the last thing she had up her sleeve. She'd only just barely managed to hit Mintaka thus far, but maybe that would be enough. While the chain blades hovered, Kid pumped her free arm and straightened her brow. Red steam bristled over the fist that held her dagger. As the ground burst before Kid and bubbled with surging heat, Mintaka's eyes flashed with recognition. The Dragoon pushed from her feet and gave a tremendous cry, swinging down her chijikiri. Kid grit her teeth- she couldn't roll forward or to the side, trapped in her own move. There was only one direction to move.

Kid lowered her voice. "Watch my step, Sis."

Then she stepped off the edge of the cliff.

It only took a second, but her vision seemed to turn surreal, slowing to the point where she could watch it all. Kid's descent carried her down, but before she could fall completely, her left hand shot out and grabbed the edge of the cliff. The abrupt halt in momentum sent a jolt through her body, but even against the virulent sea breeze, she was able to hang on. From the ruptured earth sprung a missile of burning lava, eager to burst. Mintaka's descent carried her and the long blades towards the bomb. Kid winced as the saw blade swung out and bit against her dangling left arm, but Mintaka was far worse off. The Magmabomb blew apart in midair, sending out three separate blasts. One clipped Mintaka's leg, another flew off the edge of the cliff, and the final one-

-caught her in the stomach.

Mintaka shouted and twisted around as a contained explosion tossed her body in midair. She fell to the ground, releasing her chijikiri, and landed on her back. Her breastplate had turned red-white and sizzled like an overheated frying pan- a part of it had been blown away to expose a severely reddened hip. Her hair formed an azure halo around her head, her eyes tightly shut as she clawed at the hinges of her breastplate.

Kid released the breath she'd been holding, and her body shuddered. She turned her head and saw the chijikiri had stabbed against her shoulder, sticking in it by its tip. Her grip on the cliff was now quivering from the pain, sweat beading dangerously inside her glove. Kid felt another cold breeze slide up her bare legs and hips, the crash of the waves far below reminding her just how far up she was. Her heart began to pound, the dagger in her right hand feeling so heavy that she believed it was dragging her down, coupling with her slick grip to where she had only moments to live.

"Snap...out of it!" She growled at herself, swinging up her right hand to stab the dagger into the cliff's edge. She snapped her legs together and pulled herself up until her sternum pressed into the edge. The chijikiri blade dug against her flesh again and she gasped. Blood dripped down her bicep and curved over her waist. The warmth and the cold mixed and her left hand lost its grip. Her belly jumped into her chest, her legs flailing until her knees dug into the face of the cliff. Kid frantically threw her left arm up, grunting again as the chijikiri blade nicked her cheek.

I hate this! I hate this! I hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate HATE heights!

The alarm was getting to be too much, so she shouted. "Hate 'em...hate 'em...all of 'em! I'd stab 'em if there were anything to stab!"

She blinked. That didn't exactly make sense, but it at least helped. Kid yanked herself forward, her stomach at last pressing to the rough ground. Another push and her left thigh sidled on the edge, then she swung her hips, crawled forward, and finally drew her other leg up and out of harm's way. Gasping, she reached over to grab the chijikiri. She tugged it out, choking back a swear. "Damn...bloody..._ow_!"

Kid tossed the chijikiri aside, then she remembered Mintaka. She looked over to see the Dragoon still prone, unmoving save for the brief rise and fall of her chest. Out like a light. Paying no heed to the blood that seeped down her left arm, Kid sheathed her dagger, got to all fours and crawled over to Mintaka's side. She reached down and grabbed the red-hot breastplate, flipping the hinges off to tug it free. She winced a little at the tremendous heat, but her gloves helped to smother it. Fortunately, Mintaka was wearing her chain mail and undershirt beneath, and she breathed a little easier as the scalded iron was removed.

Kid tossed the armor aside and clutched her arm. "Sorry about that, girly," she said. "I didn't want to hurt ya that bad. But, you gave as good as you got...though I ain't the one who kissed the moons!" She chuckled, then squeezed her arm to get some feeling back into it. Picking up her dagger, she stood and was finally able to turn her attention to the other two. First she had to check on the blue-haired guy, so she looked towards him.

Oh, no.

He was lying on the floor in much the same way as Mintaka, but worse off. Kid's brow knitted with worry- blood was caked around his lip and nose, his bandana now tied bloodily around his left arm. Another cut had appeared raggedly down that arm, and his knee looked swollen. Even his weapon was broken at one end. And yet the worst of it seemed to be his head, as Kid swore she could actually see his temples pulsing. Karsh was kicking at him, and those two Dragoons behind him were chattering, laughing as they rooted him on. The fat one held an axe, its beads alight, but a white one had gone out.

"Triple-teamin' bastards!" Kid's voice didn't do her anger justice. Her cheeks flushed with red under the white paint there- three soldiers on a village boy! When Karsh kicked him again, that calm but annoying smile painted on his face, something inside her snapped. She tugged her dagger from its sheath, flipping it to an underhanded position, and jumped over Mintaka's form. She sprinted, on a bee line for Karsh's turned back. "That's it, bucko! I'm gonna give you the nastiest haircut you've ever had!"

Then everything went slow, and blue.

Kid felt her muscles tighten and then relax, her arms suddenly swaying at her sides instead of pumping forward. "Unnh...what the...?" She saw traces of blue light with this sick sort of black smoke hovering around her center. It started at her belly and then moved over her entire body. Her arms went slack, and her knees relaxed and buckled. She was suddenly out of breath, and the ache in her left arm intensified. She felt...exhausted. Kid grunted and fell onto her knees, struggling to keep upright. "Huunh...dammit..."

"Not so fast, missie!"

Now that was a damn annoying voice. Kid turned her head and narrowed her eyes at its source- to the thin guy and the little pig man. He tapped his axe in his hand, the grin on his fat face wrinkling his vesture. Another Talisman on that axe had gone out.

"Hehe, that's a little nasty of me, siccing that big of an Element on you," he said. "But you shakin' deserve it after what you did to our Lady Mintaka!"

The thin guy next to him stroked his weird moustache. "Greatly great job there, Peppor! That Numble element will slow her down, even if she's a blue innate!"

Peppor blinked. "Huh? What the hell, Solt? You told me she was green!"

Solt straightened, then tapped his cheek. "I did? Well, I wouldn't know, since I haven't actually gone through the necessarily necessary procedure of getting to know what color she is and judging an element to attack her with, but I'm going with my gut here! Luck is everything, and I say she's blue-"

"I'm _red_, you idiot!" Kid shouted.

Solt jumped at the shout, but Peppor only grinned. "Well, uh...that's even better! Now stay there and maybe we'll let you live. Sir Karsh, finish him!"

Kid growled, turning her head back to the battle scene. It looked like Karsh hadn't even noticed- he'd been beating on the blue-haired guy the whole time. She noticed the boy's leg was raked where a bandage had been, and some old wound had been opened up. He was just as out of breath as she was, and despite his best efforts, he couldn't get up off his knee.

_Can't let him die.._. Kid dug her dagger against the ground, but it was no use. Her muscles were numb, falling asleep. She fell onto one elbow, not even able to stay upright anymore. As she panted for air, the only thing she could do was look on as Karsh brought up his fist and punched the boy in his shoulder. He yelled and she winced in pity, and grew angrier.

_Have to do something. Something, anything...anything to help him!_

"Come on..." she breathed. "Come on, mate...come on! Get up and get that bastard!"

Something strange happened then. He turned his hammered face towards her, and their eyes met perfectly. Even from the distance they were, Kid could see his were deep, and blue. Just like hers. Pretty, too, all narrow and pretty. The contact wasn't so odd, but all the talk of element this, innate that, and the power-ups that were needed...they now seemed trivial compared to that color of blue. That was constant. And unlike Talismans, those eyes weren't the kind to ever go out. So strange, but it seemed...true.

His swollen lips curved up. One of his eyelids fluttered, but the other remained bright and open. A wink.

She favored him with her best grin. "You can do it, mate! Get up and kick his arse!"

Karsh looked back at her and chuckled. "Keep cheerleadin', missie. It won't make a damn bit of difference."

Kid's grin turned feral. "Then why does your chest look like a barbecue?"

The Deva snarled, turning away and holding the axe out at his side. "Guess my axe still has to do the talkin', eh? All right. Mouth off to me when junior's missing a couple arms!"

Kid felt cold draw over her back, and she watched as Karsh approached his struggling opponent. "Don't let him get the best of ya, mate! Get up! Come on, get up!"

_Don't let those baby blues shut..._

* * *

It had been a while since his muscles had burned this much. Whether he'd had longed for it or shunned it, Exeter knew the sensation far too well. His breathing was ragged, his body sore, his sword heavy, and he was slick with fatigue. His blonde hair clung to his neck, dampened by the surging heat. His dark robe felt even more a burden. Once again, he was staring down the end of an enemy's blade, and the day was a dark orange. About the only thing that was different was the size of the "battlefield"- not nearly large enough to hold everyone on it. And even then, it was bitterly nostalgic, how his allies had been spread out along the precipice.

My muscles should not be burning, though. I shouldn't be feeling like this. Shouldn't this only come in war? How this world's gifts are abused, that a simple element can make me burn like this again...

Sindai whipped blood from his rapier and straightened back into that stance again. "Is that it? One attack can't possibly be the end of you," he said. "Surely you know the secret of my attack by now...if you're really Sir Exeter."

Exeter curled his lip, the ache in his left thigh pinpointing where Sindai had stabbed. Whatever the Dragoon had done with that sword, it had worked. Usually one faced the front, so as to negate any blind spots, but this Sindai fellow had his back turned, his head twisted for a painfully clear blind spot- and yet he'd been able to twist and stab in an arc with incredible speed. Exeter hadn't even been able to unsheathe his Murakumo yet. He was getting dangerously close to the cliff, too. How the hell was Sindai able to turn a heavy disadvantage into extra power?

Whatever he was doing, Exeter would just have to beat him down.

"I'm not Sir Exeter," he said, setting his sword down and grasping his sash. "I'm simply Exeter. I was never knighted...the war was lost. Guardia fell, and we were faced with the entire Porre army..." He tugged on the sash and let it billow out loosely, and he slid his arms free of the dark robe until it fell back onto the hot ground. "There is no such thing as the Acacia Dragoons anymore. Only thirty broken men and women..."

He felt better as the ocean wind fell against his bare arms. Beneath, he wore his dark grey pants high, billowy enough for his legs to move freely. He wore a sleeveless green tunic, a smaller sash already tying it around his waist. Back in Arni- the Arni he no longer knew- a woman had been selling dyed tunics at the corner of the square. They'd always been grey, he knew that from memory. He'd talked with her many times, mostly to hit on her, and one of the more trivial bits of information he'd gathered from her was that she loved the color grey. But the ones she was selling were dark green. And, strangely enough, he didn't have to use his manly charm to get her googly-eyed. She'd already been fawning over him when he went to her. Regardless, it was a better fit.

Sindai looked at him as though he had two heads. "Did you drink some of that hair gel you're toting? Porre was beaten years ago- I proved my worth on their battlefields. This is the Acacian golden age!"

Exeter now tied the other sash around his right arm, taping it up. "This is the age that should have happened. Porre is beaten...but, I don't get it. Those leeches won- they beat us. And yet, now everyone tells me they haven't...that they were defeated, that the islands have not been overtaken by the Porre." He narrowed his eyes, tightening the sash as best as he could- at least that would give him some arm strength. "So...everything's supposed to be happy now. Everything turned out all right. I'm a knight, Viper is still in power...does Termina still have that squid gut pasta?"

Sindai paused, then chuckled nervously. "Ah...yes, they do. It's a pity you won't get to tr-"

"Everything's all right, except for one thing," Exeter said, cutting him off. He leaned down and picked up his tachi again, holding its suddenly heavy frame in both hands. Looking down at it, he saw the reflection of his eyes in the cool metal sheathe. "That one thing is not what I know. That one thing makes everything else a waste- a _waste_, do you understand?" His eyes darkened in the reflection and he turned them to Sindai. "Do you understand?"

"Not a damn bit," Sindai said. "You're two waves short of a full tide, my friend."

Exeter tightened his grip on the Murakumo's hilt. "A world without the war...that's what I dreamt for, many years ago, when the Porre came to our shores. But, if Serge has to be dead and forgotten for it to be a reality, I'll gladly go through that hell all over again." Steel glimmered in the light as he drew the long Murakumo, and he gripped its hilt to reveal its deadly, sharp blade. "And anyone who calls him a ghost may wander as one!"

His muscles yet burned, but the tightness in his arm helped jolt his senses. Exeter charged, letting his sheathe clatter to the ground, and threw himself at Sindai. Sindai arched his body forward and away from Exeter, and then he breezed from his stance with shocking speed- he twisted around, but to the right, so that his body snaked elegantly and delivered the blow while he was craned upside-down. It was a left-handed thrust aimed at chest level. The rapier shot forward in its deadly arc again, lightly whipping the air. Exeter swung his Murakumo up and clashed the blade against the rapier, forcing Sindai to twist his arm awkwardly. The Dragoon showed no sign of overbalance, however, and then planted himself upright again. He let Exeter's block press his left arm against his chest, and then he slashed his rapier on a horizontal line for Exeter's face. Exeter cocked back his head and let the thin blade sweep by, then pivoted on his left foot and swung his Murakumo around, slashing it in a return horizontal cut. It hit only air, as Sindai weaved under it.

Sindai stepped in quickly and gave another left-handed thrust. Exeter tilted his hips to the side and dodged it, then pulled the long tachi down for a vertical cut. Sindai likewise weaved to the side, came up and gave a sweeping uppercut towards Exeter's arm. It was too fast for Exeter to pull away, and he won a clean red streak on his left bicep. He winced, but did not pull away. His left leg bent and his right leg straightened, and switching the tachi to his left arm, he swiped it out towards Sindai in another horizontal slice. Sindai clashed blades with it, and pushed in until he locked blades with Exeter, gritting his teeth in the other man's face.

"A true soldier knows his limits," Sindai said. "You, who don't even wear armor in a day like this, are no soldier. You're just a wannabe, a fraud, a fake! How could a man like you ever be the warrior that Sir Exeter is?"

Exeter's eyes flashed. "A soldier knows his limits- a warrior makes up for them. If you don't know that, your armor is simply a portable coffin!" He shoved forward and broke the lock, then straightened his bent left leg, pivoted again, and drew out the Murakumo once again in a wide, diagonal slash. "Acacia Longsword- Earthen Hell!"

He came around and the blade came down straight, as though aiming to cleave Sindai from shoulder to hip. Sindai gracefully turned in as well, however, and whipped his blade against Exeter's as it came down. He grinned and pulled his blade back, as though to riposte-

-and Exeter's foot landed in his gut.

"Oomph!" Sindai doubled over as Exeter's spin brought his right leg around and plunged it against his midsection. He composed himself quickly, though, and then pulled in his left arm and stabbed forward again. Exeter cocked his head to the side, the blade nearly striking his ear. Before he could move, however, Sindai pulled his sword back and stabbed again, to the other side. Exeter swayed, and found he had to do so again as Sindai tugged in his sword and gave a solid thrust to Exeter's stomach. Again at the shoulder, and Exeter backed away, narrowing his eyes and drawing up the sword to clash with the rapier as it stabbed for his heart.

"Showy techniques and a long tachi don't make you Exeter!" Sindai said. "You're in no shape to deal with me in physical skill!"

Exeter felt his heart jump as the steel rapier lashed at his face again, forcing him to weave once more. He clutched the blade with both hands now, gasping at how heavy it felt. The Weaken effect still had not worn off- everything felt sluggish. He grunted as Sindai managed to prick him in the right hip, a short but painful lance of pain lighting up his thigh. _Distance. Put distance between yourself and him. The tachi is a long blade, heavy, slower than a katana, but its length and strength can turn any table- damn, he got my arm-_

Sindai looked pleased, high and wild as he drew his sword back from Exeter's bleeding forearm. He stabbed again, and Exeter brought up his tachi in time to take the thrust on the pommel of the blade. He then tilted it and gave a seesaw slash, slicing vertically, but his arm strength had deteriorated. Sindai dodged it easily and the rapier darted forward again, towards Exeter's face. Exeter tilted his head in response, but felt something cold rake along his left eyebrow. Sweat and blood stung his vision, then Sindai turned his thrust to Exeter's stomach. The tachi swiped it aside, the clang short and sharp. Exeter took another step back-

-and wobbled, as he had reached the edge of the cliff.

Shit!

Exeter maintained his balance, but now his exertion reached its peak. Sindai smirked before him, as he now had the other swordsman where he wanted. He stabbed once, towards the right, and Exeter swayed from it. Then he drew back and thrust for the left. Exeter almost stumbled, but drew his body out of harm's way. Sindai stabbed at the right again, then the left, and then right- left, right, left, right, all in rapid succession, forcing Exeter to dodge each time. Exeter's heart pounded in his chest, his breathing heavy, the blood and sweat and heat and fire in his body all forming a draining elixir.

Sindai finally drew back, keeping his blade at eye level. In the glossy bronze hilt, Exeter could see his reflection against the sunlight- haggard, worn, exhausted. Sindai seemed to revel in it. "Well, 'Exeter', I admire your courage. You can still evade my thrusts even after my Weaken element has hit its peak. But, you're in an incredible amount of pain. Pain can be tolerated with will and determination, but those can only come from a strong body." He chuckled and brushed a shock of red hair from his forehead. "You happen to lack that at the moment."

Exeter's breaths came out in pants and gasps. All over his body, he felt sore, battered, though no heavy blow had yet reached his body. His knees felt as though they would buckle, and just as he thought they would, he forced himself upright. The Murakumo was heavy in his arms now, as heavy as it was when he first picked it up years ago. If only he hadn't been weakened prior to the fight, if only he'd brought along his Elemental beads, maybe he could have ended this by now.

_Maybe I won't make this one...that Weaken was just too great, and the heat isn't helping either...damn it. Nine years of experience, nine years with this blade, and...I'm brought to my knees...with some pitiful Element_?

"_Grace Rend!_"

Exeter's ears perked up as Sindai shouted that. He drew up the blade as Sindai rippled with a yellow aura- _Yellow, he's Yellow innate_- as though lightning were coursing through him, and then he spun on his left leg, drawing up his right, and raised his rapier high. He had spun back into the stance. He came around- and made a rapid succession of blows. He slashed down once and then somehow arched it back up to cut horizontally, then diagonally, then twirled the blade for a second stab, tilted it down for a backwards swipe, stabbed again, twisted the rapier to the side and slashed, weaved it in an oval cut, and pirouetted again- a maddening flurry. Exeter direly swatted at the blows, but he could never once counterattack because of Sindai's proximity. He blocked the horizontal cut and then the diagonal, parried the stab, and the backwards swipe cut into his wrist. He caught the next stab with the flat of his sword, clashed with the next slash, and let the oval cut whiz by.

Sindai spun back into the stance and Exeter saw his chance. He cocked the blade to his side, the edge facing out from him and the flat bare in the sun, and he took a left step forward for a horizontal swipe to Sindai's blind spot-

A crack of lightning cut him off, and Sindai spun around with his arm alight to stab the rapier viciously into his shoulder.

"Aaagh..." Exeter jolted with the stab. An electric shock had charged at the end of it- it felt like a light bulb had exploded inside of him. Grimacing, he staggered as Sindai drew the blade out, blood squirting from the wound. Exeter clutched it with one hand, squeezing it to kill the pain.

"It's no use struggling," Sindai said. "Enough's enough. I made a promise to my dear lady Mintaka, and as such, I will slay you today. At least stand up all the way- I'll allow you to die like a warrior should!"

Exeter's hand came away with a small puddle of blood still in its center. His eyes half-lidded, and he remembered the last time the dark red liquid of bronze odor had been in his presence. His hearing seemed to phase out as Sindai spoke, and all he could pick up were the sounds of yells. Yells, cannons, the clashing of the blade against the gun barrel. The crackle of lightning, the roar of fire, the howl of rain- it was all there. Above it all, however, was the sound of one deep, heavy cut.

The cut that killed my Master. That stole this future from me. This...world...is not my own. One sword never came down. One sword separates this world from my own. No...perhaps that's not true. The man that sword killed was meant to die. But, not the man who's died here. The life I've grown to befriend doesn't exist in this world. And he should.

He felt deaf as he turned his head. He had not once cast a glance to his comrades in the conflagration, and he did so now.

Serge was in pain. Karsh, who he'd known was dead, now kicked at Serge's body as he stumbled along up the cliff, to his own tombstone. His lip was cut open and his arm was seeped with blood, and both knees looked battered all over. His bandana was gone. Karsh chopped with his axe, and Serge was barely able to roll aside from each blow. On the ground behind them, the girl was pinned down by a black-blue mist- Numble- and vainly shouted for Serge to get up. Behind her, the two idiot soldiers, Solt and Peppor, pumped their axes high in the air for Karsh to finish Serge off.

Sindai had looked back towards them as well, and now he turned back to Exeter with a glare. "It seems my Lady has been defeated," he said darkly. "I'll not hesitate any more to even the odds. Stand up-"

"I am very much standing up."

Sindai seemed surprised by the tone of that voice. Exeter kept his head turned down, but now he held the Murakumo in one hand- unwavering. There was not even the slightest amount of fatigue showing on him any longer. The blood trickled down his right shoulder, but the sweat had frozen shock still. The ocean breeze wrapped around him, his blonde hair flowing with it. But it was a much stronger breeze. Sindai squinted as though to get a better look at what was happening.

Exeter still kept his head hung. "Unfortunately for you, I will never go down," he whispered. "Never. Even if I could, I wouldn't have taken the chance to go down. There are a couple reasons for that." He smiled tightly as the hair and blood hid his eyes from sight. "Before I 'die', let me tell you them. The first is that I will always protect him- my friend, Serge of Arni. Always. To the end of my natural life, I shall stand beside him, and fight those who seek his life. Whether a Dragoon, a Porre, a lion shark- why, it could even a frying pan brought to life by necromancy- I will beat all those who want to hurt him."

"...what the hell are you talking about?" Sindai tilted his head. "You shouldn't even have the strength to talk-"

He stopped, suddenly, as the breeze heightened. Sindai squinted and held up his free hand to his face as the gale turned stronger, like a country wind. He took a step back, then another as the wind became too strong for him to bare. It seemed as though all around Cape Howl, the waves had quieted, and now the wind was like one long howl. Behind Sindai, the others had caught notice. Karsh's hair flapped in the wind, almost obstructing his vision as he looked towards Exeter. Solt and Peppor watched him as well, the tall one's jaw quivering with nervousness. The girl looked over, her eyes narrowed with uncertainty, and Serge, who now was slumped against the gravestone at the very tip of the cliff, turned his head slowly to the two swordsmen.

The wind centered around Exeter, who was the only one unmoving. He spoke again, and it was only then that the wind quieted. "The other reason is that I will never be struck down," he said. "No blade shall pierce my heart, no bullet shall hit my stomach, no weapon of any sort will kill me."

Exeter turned his head up, opened his darkened eyes, and the wind picked up again. "That's because, beyond this world, a man with a sword is waiting for me. When I die, I must and will be stronger than he is. I must! I will! And unless I see fit- unless I _let_ a bastard like you kill me- _no one will claim my life!_"

The wind soared in a spiral around him, the waves far below muted by its roar. Exeter tightened his muscles until the burn was all but insignificant, and went down on one knee to simply lean. He held the Murakumo in a perfect vertical line above his head, and the wind swirled around it in a miniature tornado that bristled with sylvan light. It shone enough to cast an eerie green glow over the sun-scorched earth, and then Exeter pushed from his kneel with a cry that echoed through the entire Cape.

"_Carnage Gale!"_

He charged, and the ground split as the Murakumo hacked into it before him. Exeter brought it up, and all the untamed winds that lashed freely collected into a single force behind the blade. He swung his sword in a complete vertical arc, swiping up towards Sindai with insane speed. Crackling with yellow bolts, Sindai slashed his blade down to meet it, and they clashed. The rapier snapped in two. Sindai's eyes went wide, but only for a moment, as the tachi cut against his breastplate. That, too, cracked in half. The edge gashed against his sternum and carved a thin line over his chest as Exeter completed the cut, and blood flew through the air. Sindai was lifted up with the impact, gnashing his teeth with a curse.

The immense wind tore wildly again, and split in three separate gales of enormous speed and power. They swept forward, and then curved towards Karsh, Sindai, and Solt and Peppor. Then they shattered the ground, and hell broke loose with them.

* * *

Serge watched, caught between horror and awe, as the winds literally sent all four standing Dragoons into the air. Sindai was thrown back from both the cut and the wind and hit the ground on his shoulder, rolling back down the cape. He landed on his side, clutching his chest. Solt and Peppor went flying above each other, finally slamming into some of the far rocks far down the cliff. They collapsed on each other in a wailing bundle beside Sindai, Solt's legs stuck in the air as Peppor's axe landed between them. Mintaka's groaning form was flung back with them, but Karsh was hit with what had clearly been intended to be the strongest blast. Serge saw the wind slash a great red cut over his already crimson chest, and he arched up in the air as it battered his toned muscles. The Dragoon Deva was then thrown back to the ground, and tumbled down the cape's slope towards his compatriots. He groaned, coughing as he lay on his side, and did not rise immediately.

Dragon Gods, Ex...

He turned his pounding head until he saw him. Exeter stood with his sword held high in both arms, in the position of a completed uppercut. His hair breezed in the wind, its golden sheen still blending with the green mist that wrapped around his body. He bled, but his legs were straight and he showed no sign of exhaustion any longer. He was simply the last man standing.

"...hell," the girl said. "Bloomin'...hell."

The darkness seemed to vanish from Exeter's eyes at those words. He shut them, and then fell to one knee again, clutching his tachi by the hilt. He sighed once, then turned his head towards Serge. "Got 'em."

Serge chuckled, or would have, if it hadn't hurt to. The Weakminded effect was wearing off now, but the pain wasn't. Karsh had hit him nonstop then- Serge had barely been able to stay awake after repeated knuckles to the face and chops with the axe that left small incisions on his arms, legs, and shoulders. He felt like vomiting- he wondered if he had already. Karsh had slugged him in the center a few times, there.

_She was...yelling for me, all through it_.

His eyes went back to the girl. She was staggering upright, though on wobbly legs, and turned to face the groaning Dragoons. Serge vaguely realized she was hurt on her left arm; blood streamed down it, though most had caked over her fragile-looking wrist and elbow. He wished he had a curative element stocked to fix that again. He had only just met her and already he did not like the sight of blood on her body.

That reminded him. He had almost forgotten, for a moment, that she had died in his dream. Serge shut his eyes a moment and shunned that sordid memory. It had to be just that- a dream. The person he was watching was flesh and blood, not a dream. She was not bound to any dream in his troubled mind. _I hope not..._

Down at the base of the cape, Peppor had regained his bearing, and sagged on his feet. "S-Sir Karsh! I say...we shake it on...outta here, so that we can live...to fight another day! Th-These aren't no ordinary brats we're dealing with...!"

Solt hacked, clutching his legs. "

Peppor," he said, his voice mysteriously high-pitched, "I'm in...intensely...intense...pain! Help...me!"

Mintaka had now regained consciousness, and hugged at her burned front. "It's no use for now...battleground's...too unstable..."

"Damn...cowards!" Karsh dug his axe into the ground with a weakened glare, turning it in Serge's direction. "I ain't through with you yet, junior...I got a little wind of my own ready." He stretched out his free arm, and wind began to pick up around it. Serge's eyes widened- he was preparing another wind attack. This one looked to be an Element, as a light green disc suddenly formed around Karsh's wrist. Aero Saucer- discs of wind that would cut through even the strongest steel.

Footsteps clacked up towards him. Serge looked up through hazy eyes and saw the girl was standing in front of him, taking a staggering defensive stance. She was close enough for him to smell. He shuddered as the aroma of flowers- bellflowers, he recognized- filled his nostrils. Too close already. She was trying to be his shield...

"Bring it on, chum!" the girl said. "Haha...I've had more trouble in drinkin' contests! Do yer worst!"

_Please, don't..._

Karsh smirked, moving his arm around to beckon the discs forward. "See ya on the other side, you little ska-"

He stopped. The AeroSaucer blades had dissipated without warning. Serge blinked a few times, wondering if it were just a trick of the sunlight. It wasn't. Karsh gazed at his arm, his face displaying the same surprise and confusion that Serge felt. The element had vanished, leaving behind only green wisps where the discs had once hovered. Frowning, Serge looked to Exeter, to see if it was another shocking power that had remained latent until now. However, he looked just as confused as the rest of them.

A jolt ran through Serge's body. Not a jolt of pain, but a jolt of recognition- a presence that he knew. It felt...hot. His body ignited with a heavy flush, the kind he felt when he was in the jungle with Exeter. Then it grew stronger, like being tossed to the desert, or after sunbathing for far too long. No, that was too weak- it was like being exposed to a fireplace, but a far larger fireplace than any craftsman could create. An inferno. Then it changed- beads of sweat formed on Serge's forehead. They were ice cold. That was it- heat and cold were raging from this presence. Like ice and fire.

As though they're connected- wait. This is...

Serge's eyes darted back to where Karsh still kneeled in bewilderment. In the very next instant, he felt the cold in him flow into the heat, and then shudder. Peppor suddenly shouted and toppled forward, as though he'd been hit by a battering ram. The other Dragoons spun around, and Serge managed to see just behind them, to one of the giant rock pillars that formed the path to the Cape. He was now aware that the presence was coming from that pillar.

There was a man there. Tan but not dark, he had dark brown hair tied into a ponytail with wild strands hanging over his pleasant face. He looked to be in his early or mid-twenties, and was lithe and supple around the chest, which his long and open white shirt bared. He wore a pair of loose khaki pants fastened with a maroon cloth belt around his waist, and he wore sandals that Serge had never seen anyone else wearing. He wore the same kinds of bandages that Exeter did sometimes, though- around his wrists and ankles. The sunlight hit his face, where a heavy smirk was painted.

The girl looked at Serge, then back towards the stranger. "Is that...?"

Serge glanced towards her for a moment. It sounded like she had an inkling of who it might be, but her face alone showed it wasn't meant to be spoken. He looked back towards the man and frowned, the discomfort of both cold and heat continuing to plague him. _He's dressed like a monk, kind of. That energy, though...cold and heat tied together...and he managed to hit that Peppor guy from a distance. This is...this is chi!_

Karsh was furious. "Who the hell are you?"

The man drew up his left fist. "Just the wild card that deals itself," he said. "By the way, those were some nice mounts you rode over here. You tied them down with flimsy rope, though."

Karsh's head cocked back. "You son of a-"

"Oh, don't worry," the man said, already stepping back. "If you can catch me, I'm sure we can work out a deal and get your mounts back. But, well, I'm sure walking all the way across the island is no challenge for a Dragoon Diva- excuse me, Deva- like yourself."

He turned and bolted down the path, glancing over his shoulder to wink back. It might have been aimed at Karsh, but, for whatever reason, Serge caught it directly with his own eyes. Damn, but it seemed like he'd seen that face before- seen the flutter of the bangs and the taped-up ankles and the almost imposing figure under the monk attire. It would have been nostalgic if it had made any sense.

Karsh started after him, then paused, looking about as though he were unsure. With a growl, he stomped his foot and barked an order to the others. "Get yourselves up, we're going after him!" He looked back towards Serge and the girl, and narrowed his eyes to red slits. "As for you, we won't soon forget this. I'll see you three again."

They were gone, then. Karsh charged off in the lead. Mintaka dragged Sindai upright, and the two of them flashed the girl and Exeter looks that could have melted steel before following their Deva leader. Solt and Peppor hobbled after, muttering something about curative elements and a certain part of the male anatomy.

The girl reveled in it all, grinning brightly as she stepped forward and shouted after them. "Oooh, I'm sooo scaaared! I'll be happy to take you on anytime! Think I'll lose to scum like _you_? Hah! Go on, chase your damn lizard horses! Just remember how badly I stomped your butts today!"

"Ahaha...don't push your luck, honey," Exeter said weakly.

Serge smiled, then sighed with relief- it was over. They'd toughed out a mugging. _Whoever that guy was, I owe him one. I don't think I could have put up with Karsh for much longer._

He was so relaxed he nearly forgot that he was leaning against his own tombstone. As that realization flooded into him again, the pain did, too. He gasped as his arm throbbed, and his knee rested on the ground with an awful burn. Karsh had really done a number on him.

"Oi, you alright, mate?"

He sucked in. The girl, and her voice was much closer. He looked over and saw her kneeling beside him, face etched with worry. Her ice blue eyes met his for the second time. Only now was he getting to see her face- haggard with flecks of dirt and smeared paint along her cheeks, and with her dark blonde hair rumpled and streaking over her forehead, she looked pretty cute. He almost winced, as that probably wasn't the best word to use.

"Y...yeah," he said, his voice almost cracking. "I just got a little hammered there...nothing a couple Capsules won't take care of."

"Same over here," Exeter said. He staggered over towards them, his scabbard reclaimed in one hand. "Think you guys coul-"

"Are you sure, mate?" the girl asked again. She tilted her head, the concern not yet fading. "Don't try to be macho or nothin'. Here, lemme get a look at that arm." Her hand reached out to his cut bicep-

don't touch me don't touch me NO!

He pulled himself away before her hand could touch his arm. "No, no, really, please, I'm fine," Serge said. "Please, don't touch m...I mean, don't touch it."

She recoiled and blinked. Her lips parted as though to say something, then she pursed them, and nodded. "Oi...sorry. Yeah, that's fine. But, here, come on...at least take this." She reached behind her and into her worn sneaker, and pulled out a small pouch. She dumped a little yellow capsule into her hand, and brought it to his lips. Before he could protest, she had shoved it into his mouth. "Go on, chew..."

Serge chewed. The tablet tasted sour, but it left a sweet aftertaste when he swallowed it. It tickled his insides, but he felt the ache fade. He could even feel the bleeding clot. All pain faded, then he slumped against the gravestone and breathed gently. "Mmf...thanks..."

She gave him a smile and placed her hand on her own torn arm, putting pressure on her cut. That made him wince- he shouldn't have reacted like that. Serge clutched his arm in return and smiled back uneasily. "Really, uh...thanks."

"Not a problem at all!" She tilted her head again, looking behind him at the tombstone. Her head cocked back, and her eyes flashed. "Oh...Serge...your name's Serge, ain't it?"

Serge swallowed tightly and nodded. "Yeah, my name's Serge...Serge of Arni. And, who are you?" _Gods, who are you?_

The girl looked up, as though snapping out of a trance. "Oh, me? Ah! My name's Shi...um...well, nah, people don't call me that no more," she said. She smiled again and stood up, reaching down for him to take her good hand. "Call me 'Kid'."

Serge looked at her hand, unsure whether or not to take it. He sighed, realizing he couldn't sit against his own tombstone forever, and tentatively took it in his own. "Thank you. Nice to mee- whoa!" He yelled as she yanked him up onto his feet as effortlessly as lifting a feather. "Holy..."

Kid smiled to him. "I'm skinny but I'm strong, mate. Nice to meet ya! And quit thankin' me, there ain't no need."

"If you hadn't come when you did, me and Ex might be dead," Serge said. His head had cleared greatly. Thank the Gods for Capsules.

"Nah, you coulda taken 'em," Kid said, just as Exeter was about to speak. "I just couldn't stand by and watch those blokes gang up on you like that. Grr! They just pissed the bloody hell outta me." She gritted her teeth and squeezed her left arm again. "I wish I could've beat 'em up some more!"

"Damn straight," Exeter said tiredly. He gave Serge and Kid a weak look. "Uh, really, could you two spare a Cap-"

Serge had turned his attention to her arm. He winced as another red rivulet streamed down her elbow. "That looks bad...um, here, take this." He fished into his pocket with his good arm. He had a Tablet in there he'd been keeping for a while, another healing med. The only difference between it and a Capsule was that the Tablet was antibiotic- not edible. He held it carefully in his hands and reached out towards her arm- which she suddenly pulled away.

"It's not that bad," Kid said, smiling. "I'll be just fine. Don't worry your pretty lil' head."

His eyebrow twitched at that last line. "No, come on, it's the least I can do..."

Exeter chuckled and coughed. "You know, if she really doesn't want it-"

"OI! Well..." Kid thought about it for a moment, sighed, and stretched out her arm. "Okay, go ahead."

Serge eagerly broke the tablet over her arm, pouring the antibiotic fluid over the cuts. The liquid sizzled painlessly, as a good Tablet did, sealing up the flesh and killing any and all germs. It actually brushed off some of the dirt on her arm, too. Kid's smeared cheeks turned red and she tugged her arm back to her side. "Thank ya...oi, I didn't count on getting so dirty in one tussle."

"Kid, your ass is so fine."

Kid swung around and her fist landed square in Exeter's upraised palm. The blonde swordsman grinned brightly. "Now that I have your attention," he said, "could one of you please give me some medicine? I'm losing a pint here..."

Serge glanced at Exeter's shoulder and saw the large wound there. "Oh, damn! Ex, I'm so sorry," he said.

"_I'm_ not!" Kid said, and kicked Exeter in the shin.

He went rigid and made a face like he'd sucked a lemon. "That's...o...kay..."

Kid growled and put her hands on her hips, turning away from him. Serge couldn't help a laugh, small as it was. He broke the Tablet over Exeter's shoulder and let the liquid do its job. "There...well, now, we're all patched up." No sooner had he said that than he stumbled, and clapped his hands to his knees. "But, ah...I think I need a moment..."

Kid turned back towards him, sighing. "Ah, you need some toughenin' up," she said. She reached out to take his shoulder, but seemed to think better of it. "Oi, you really gonna be okay?"

Serge nodded. "I'm just tired...something like that doesn't happen every day." _It's not every day your world gets turned upside-down._

Exeter reached out and clapped his shoulder. "It's a rough situation, I know," he said quietly. "You'll get through it. We both will."

Serge saw Kid frown out of the corner of his eye at the touch. Not wanting to offend, he reached up and tapped Exeter's hand until it fell back to his side. "I know. We've just got to lay low for a while..."

"But...wait," Kid said. "Why was that mob after ya in the first place? Did you give Karsh a hard time about his hair?"

Serge shook his head. "No...honestly, I've never even met them before."

Kid blinked. "Whaddaya mean you've never met 'em before?"

"I've never met them before," Serge said. "This is my first time ever seeing Karsh ali...around, I mean."

"Eh? Huh...well, that's a stumper if I ever heard one," Kid said. She put her hands on her hips, then looked back towards the gravestone, walking towards it. She seemed to wander into thought for a moment, studying the face of that stone. Serge did not feel like looking back and reading it again, so he leaned down and picked up his Swallow. It was ruined, at least in its current shape, but it would be good enough for him to lean on. His leg still felt like it was going to burst, and he felt faint.

_Stay awake just a little longer.._.

"We should head out soon," Exeter said. "I don't think Karsh will take his sweet time chasing that guy..."

Serge nodded, eager to get away from this awful place. "Arni's not a long walk back...if we hurry, we could get there by nightfall." He glanced back at Kid, twisting his lip. "You'd better get going home, yourself..."

_Get as far away from me and my dreams as possible_.

Kid shook with a laugh. "Home, hah, you're a funny guy..." She looked back over her shoulder with a wry smile. "What makes ya think a girl like me has a roof over her head, mate?"

"If it helps, we had the carpet yanked out from under us, too," Exeter said. "But at least there's got to be an inn hereabouts that we can rest. You two really need it- especially you, my young apprentice." He cuffed Serge gently on the head.

Serge twitched. "Yeah, call me 'apprentice' whenever I'm around girls...you'll make sure I die childless."

Kid laughed. "If you guys wanna rest, I'll make sure ya get to an inn all nice and cozy..." She trailed off, blinked once, and then skipped over between them. "No, wait, I'll one-up ya on that! How about we all team up for a while?"

That brought Serge's head back up. "What?"

"Well, that Karsh fella ain't gonna just leave you alone, that's for sure!" Kid said. "You may need my charms and skill to getcha out of trouble next time..." She placed a hand on the back of her head and smiled, almost bashful. "And to tell ya the truth, I'm new to these islands...came right from the mainland. It's pretty lonely travelin' around here on me own."

Exeter put a hand to his lip. "Hmm...well, I suppose having a woman who knows more about this world than we do would help..."

Kid turned to him. "'This world'? Eh? Was the girlman with the little stabthing right about ya being two sandwiches short of a picnic?"

A vein in Exeter's head bulged. "Well, he said _something_ along those lines. Little smartass...anyway, no, I'm perfectly sane. Ah, I'll...explain our dilemma along the way." He tilted his head. "But, ah, let's say we want to take you along...what're your credentials like?"

Kid stared at him evenly. "I'll have ya know I'm a professional thief, good with machines, and I can whip up a cute little tea if ya gimme some lime and sugar."

"Can you sing and dance?"

Kid's head cocked back. "Well, yeah..."

Exeter flashed a smirk to Serge. "Yeah, that's fine, I say we let her come."

"OI!" Kid gave Exeter a cuff of her own, turning to Serge with a grin. "So...how 'bout it, Serge? Perhaps it was fate that we would meet up like this!"

Fate. Gods, was this all meant to happen? Was my life meant to be screwed over, so I would meet this gorgeous girl and have to think of her murdered corpse every time I see those damn, damn blue eyes?

Serge felt that he would trip if he thought any longer. Even so, he did. He remembered the dream, it had only been this morning, it had only been broken because of his mother's voice. He forgot most dreams, but this one was still vivid. He was holding the dagger over the body of this very girl, smiling, _happy_ as he held the thing. It had dripped. That peaceful and disgusting sound was maddening whenever he thought of it. Given what had happened, that he'd been ripped out of his own existence, he was willing to place bets that dream wasn't just a coincidence. But, then again, if his whole life had been a dream, that had been only a dream within a dream.

"My head hurts," he whispered. "Oh...damn, I don't know, Kid. I...don't want to get you in any more trouble than you already are-"

"That's boloney!" Kid placed her hands on her hips and leaned towards him until their gazes locked again. Unlike before, though, her eyelashes fluttered. "Are you tellin' me you're going to refuse the company of a lonely...vulnerable...sweet little girl?"

Her smile turned sultry. A bead of sweat rolled down the side of his head. Serge swallowed, his eyes trapped in that gaze, and shook his head. "N-no, it's not that...I just...I...hey, Exeter, stop looking at that!"

Kid whirled around just as Exeter peeled his eyes from what was exposed to him. The swordsman rolled his eyes innocently skyward. "Just checking to see if you were cut back there," he said.

"How the hell would I get- ah, forget it." Kid looked at Serge again. "Well? Are you absolutely sure ya don't want me to come along? Lemme have your back, I'll watch out for you. Not a speck of dirt'll touch that pretty blue hair!"

"I...oh...sure," Serge said at last. "Sure, but...I'm going to have your back too, okay? Nothing will happen to you while I'm around...Exeter, too..." It took a lot to say that. Serge felt himself sag some more.

Kid was the picture of happiness. "Beauty, mate! That decides it then!" She hugged herself and looked at both Serge and Exeter with her brightest grin. "We're real good mates now!"

Exeter smirked. "Oh, I sure hope so."

Kid stuck her tongue out at him. "Anyways, it'll be gettin' dark soon. I suggest we head to Arni and shack up for the night- dunno if there's an inn there, but we'll find something."

"My house is there, I think," Exeter said. "At least, I guess it's my house now. I don't think anyone will mind."

Kid nodded. She looked with worry at Serge again. "And as for you...well...like it or not, you're getting helped back."

Serge blinked. "Huh, wha- hey...hey, don't, my arm hurts!"

She'd already slipped his wounded arm over her shoulders, and her arm was slipped around his waist. "I know, I know," Kid said, "but you ain't in no condition to travel, mate. Lean on me...that all right with you?"

Before he could respond, Serge found his other arm, Swallow and all, tugged around Exeter's shoulders. "The hottie there is right," Exeter said. "Let's get you out of here. Rest is just a little trek away."

"Oh, Serge, that reminds me..." Kid nudged him a little. Serge turned his head towards hers and found it again filled with her youthful vesture. Blue eyes were fast becoming the last thing he ever wanted to see. _What is it now? Want to tell me how it's 'fate' that brought the two, no, the three of us all together like this? Don't say that anymore I can't handle it..._

Kid winked one of them. "Don't be tryin' any funny stuff just coz I'm cute 'n all!"

Serge blinked for a moment. He hadn't been expecting to hear that, but even then, it wouldn't have stunned him into total silence like it had then. Despite the drowsiness he was feeling, his cheeks lit up in a tinge of red. "Oh...oh, uh...hey, what are you suggest-"

"Damn damn damn damn _damn_ it!" Exeter growled. "Saw right through my plan...oh...did I say that aloud or did I just think it?"

"You'll be dreamin' it after I knock your lights out, 'mate'," Kid said.

Serge would have smiled if he had the energy left. He sighed, not even strong enough to resist any more as they helped him down the slope. He almost didn't notice that Kid was touching him, or that his stomach had remained in freefall at the contact. He looked back, however, and caught sight of his gravestone. The light was fading from its surface; looking at its darkening frame, he decided he'd never seen anything lonelier than that.

Kid saw him looking back, and seemed to gather what he was thinking. She chuckled and nudged him again. "You ain't no ghost, mate. Just forget about it. You stick with me and I'll help ya out."

"...thank you." Serge whispered it, then shut his eyes and finally let himself rest. In Kid's words, the unsettling presence, Exeter's mysterious power, or even the tombstone rock still in his pocket, there was nothing that frightened him any more. Nothing, except what darkness lay between his dream and his fate.

* * *

To be continued... 


	7. A Step and Obscurity

Chapter VI :: A Step and Obscurity _Viper Manor, El Nido 02, 1020 A.D._

  
Riddel opened her eyes and saw moonlight.  Another dream had ended.

It took a moment to realize that.  Whenever she awakened, there was always a moment like that- a moment where reality struggled to win back her mind.  Her eyelids fluttered, blurred, and then fluttered again to restore clarity.  Riddel squeezed them shut, incredibly tired and even more relieved that what she had been seeing was simply a dream.  Images of people moving around in darkness faded away, followed by the unsettling music that had visited her.  A Spatvark piece, it had been- the Nether Ballad, a very famous song of woe.  Fitting, in a way, for what she had dreamt.

_It was being played on the piano.  I was in a house, dark, run-down, small.  A child was in the corner…beaten all over.   Shivering- I could see blotches on his skin.  He had his arms up over his head, but I could see one of his eyes between them.  It was wide open…too wide.  Too wild.  Too crazed.  Like a stricken eagle's, wide open and full of horror.  I heard…screams.  Children were screaming, and everything was hot.  The walls were crumbling…___

_Then that child…burst into flame…_

Riddel realized her heart was pounding.  She swallowed tightly, a flush running through her body beneath the blankets of her bed.  She was hot, her window wasn't open.  That was why it had felt so terrible and real in the dream, to see that child slowly combust and feel the heat.  She wanted to think that was why, at least, and not that it had actually been real.  What was she thinking, of course it wasn't real.  

"Thank the gods," she whispered.  Her dreams had not gone well for a while now.  She hadn't had nice dreams in a while, and all the bad ones were wearing her down.  She smiled to herself, sadly- out of every part of her life, dreams were the tools that supplied her with the most pain.  Memory could be shunned, but dreams were not subject to control.  Given the last few dreams of hers, that was a sad truth.  If only happy dreams could be chosen before her eyelids closed.

Her clock in the corner of her room tolled.  She turned her head over her pillow, opening her eyes to peer past the clear silk curtain that hid her bed and window from the rest of her room.  She found it was three o'clock in the morning.  She also found her skin was damp with sweat.  Sighing, Riddel reached an arm from under her blankets and pulled the top two down, leaving only the sheet over her body, and then turned to rest on the cool, dry part of her mattress.  That felt much better. __

Her hand stroked along the empty space beside her.  Only three weeks more, and perhaps Dario would have been lying there beside her.  Her fingers would have been on his side or his chest, rather than nestled against the light blue mattress cover.  The second pillow beside her should have been his.  The bed would have been more than enough to hold his chiseled body beside her.  Happiness had only been three weeks away.  It was no surprise that only demon claws could have shut out that bright future.  

Riddel's eyes narrowed, tired and exhausted of all tears.  Again she rubbed that space- she would have liked to sleep beside him as his wife, just once.  She wanted to know what that was like.  She felt that it would be insufficient with any other man.  Any.  No matter how open or loving, she doubted any could compare to Dario.

_Maybe I'm being childish.  It's better to be childish than to disrespect the memory of the man I loved._

Now she wasn't hot anymore.  Her legs were cold.  Riddel leaned up in bed, hugging the sheet against her breasts, and tugged the middle blanket up to her waist.  Sighing, she slowly lowered back to her pillow, brushing a damp but drying purple lock from her forehead.  She wished Steena were around- Steena always understood this.  Hers was the shoulder Riddel felt brave enough to cry on.  Steena would have held her, wept with her- she had done so, when Dario's empty urn was lowered into the grave at Termina.  Riddel remembered not having the strength to look at the Einlanzer sword, stuck in the ground like a cross above the remains of the only man who had ever won her heart.

She took her hand from her chest and covered her face with it.  _For the Emblem's sake, why am I still pained?  It was so long ago.  My memories of Dario…they are faded, dulled.  I can just barely remember what he looked like.  Every time I remember him now, I think of his hair tossled and spiky, and a cross scar etched down one cheek, and a white headband around his forehead.  But he looked nothing like that.  Handsome as that is, he was nothing like that._

Riddel took a moment and turned her glazed eyes over her body.  Thoughts of Steena had led her to picture the woman, and realize how similar she was.  Steena was her age, only slightly taller than her, with her hair a shimmering white and her eyes the most beautiful hue of green when last Riddel had seen them.  Steena had a likewise curve to her hips and only a slightly larger swell to the chest, but the last was far from sensual.  In Steena's case, it was proud, full of life.  Her heart beat with faith.  Riddel had always thought that had led Steena to Guldove, to serve the Gods in every way, to be their oracle and their messenger under the tutelage of the Shrine Maiden.  

At times like this, she missed her friend so, so sorely.  Steena…she'd met her when they were only children.  Riddel imagined it had been twenty years earlier, when they were both four.  All through childhood it was the two of them surrounded by all the boys- Dario, Karsh, and their old friend Wayne.  Glenn had come along later, but Riddel still remembered playing Fantasy in Karsh's yard.  Steena had always snatched Dario's sword away from him, though.  _She said she would make a fine swordswoman…she was brave from the start.  Haha, half of the time, it was her who protected me from the imaginary dragon, not Dario._

Dario again.  Looking at her body, Riddel paused and reflected on what might have been.  Keeping her body pure just for his touch- that was what she had told herself earlier.  Her dark maroon bandeau and gerries were different, though, than what she had used to wear.  Three years prior, she never would have dreamed of wearing what she did now.  Why she had switched to the garments she wore tonight, she knew not.  They were comfortable, but then, she'd never had a problem wearing a corset or brassiere.  Freedom required a sense of physicality to it, perhaps…or maybe it was just another way of mourning for him.

_Maybe not.  Maybe it's just that I've…never paid this kind of attention to my sensuality.  I was always modest, even with Dario._

She wondered for a moment what her mother had told her about this.  Riddel sighed, though, remembering that her mother had died before she had reached adolescence.  "Maybe…that's it," she said, musing aloud.  "Maybe I've just…put it aside, for awhile."  Ironic that only now, when Dario was three years dead, did she look at herself and take the title of "pure."  She would probably die that way, she supposed.

"Mmf."  Riddel grunted, turning her eyes away from her body.  The dead of night was no time for vagaries of childhood or sensuality.  She felt tired enough, and now she was hot again.  Sighing, she tugged the sheet and blanket all the way down, her rumpled bandeau providing all the heat she needed.  She turned her head and stared out at the window, towards the moon.  Letting the moon's scarlet rays strike her eyes had always helped her to sleep.  

She mumbled a bit, feeling the heat spread to her leg- to the inside of her thigh.  Her birthmark again- it grew hot sometimes.  Her thighs pressed together, but that did not quell the heat.  Already that was getting to be a nuisance.  She pulled herself up enough so that she could lean on her arm, and reached in the darkness to her leg.  _Hotter than usual…irritable little dots, why aren't you behaving tonight?_

Her fingers reached the skin, and she stopped.  She pulled down the sheet past her waist, looking at her thigh with growing alarm.  The birthmark was alight- glowing, like two little white fireflies.  Everything around her went cold; her ears seemed to flex and her forehead creased.  Karsh had once told her something about the innate power in everyone, the elemental attribution they were born with.  Something about a reaction when someone or something of the opposite innate was close by.  

_…oh, gods._

Riddel turned her head.  In the still darkness, her eyes locked onto the transparent curtain that separated her bed from the rest of her room.  Hesitantly, she peered through it, her sight wandering over each corner.  Her little frog still lay on her desk, its arms playfully tugged behind its head and its legs crossed in a bit of a P- she'd set it like that earlier.  But right behind it, beside the golden lamp that hung in the center of the desk, was a light.  Two lights.  Green, and small, and with black slits carved down their centers.

She froze, her brow creasing now from the widening of her eyes.  Realization had gripped her, the soft but icy breeze adding a physical counterpoint to that horror.  Her skin puckered, her sweat ceasing as though frozen.  Those two little lights had not moved once, but she moved back, shifting on her mattress until she was at the far side of the bed from them.  Her lips parted, and her throat tightened as though to scream, but only a little whimper came out.  "Oh…"  
  
The green orbs darkened a moment, then lit up again.  The slits were still there.  

They were eyes, and they were blinking.

_Something's watching me…something's been watching me.  Those horrible eyes, they're like- oh, gods, they're like the…the…the child's, just before he…_  

"Wh…wh…who's there?" Riddel asked, her breath hastening.  "Who are you?"  
  
The eyes remained motionless, but not enough that their essence could fade.  Real and eerily sylvan, they followed Riddel's head with every tremble, every sway her body made.  No escape- that was what they said to her.  She could swear she felt a breath stream over her face.  Her face froze in the picture of stricken fear, the warmth of her clothing and blankets utterly powerless.  The eyes had her.  Her fingers uncurled, turning her clenched fists back into palms.  Her lips quivered, and again she tried to scream, but still the sound was kept to only a whisper.  "Help…help…"  
  
The curtains billowed, abruptly.  A different breeze swept through the room.  Without any warning, the green eyes became narrow slits.  Riddel fearfully hearkened to the awful sound of something bumping against the floor, clashing and banging and rending her nerves with panic.  Then it was like something scurried across the floor, and then her ears popped and rung with a sharp note.  It was painless, but the effect of the events on her heart was not.  Horror gripped her even as the eyes drew into the wall, flickered once- and then disappeared.

For a long moment, Riddel was held in stasis by that horror.  Her eyes stung, her throat was tight, and she shook all over, but she could not move.  Something had been watching her.  Someone had been in the room.  Her shudders became so great that her teeth started to chatter.  Words formed on her lips, but she dared not speak.  She did not know if she was alone anymore.

Finally, she broke, and her head fell to her chin.  The fear mixed with unexplained grief, ripping her apart from the inside.  She squeezed her eyes tightly shut and turned away from the darkness and the curtain, towards her window.  She slumped against the windowsill, her hair flashing with the light of the moon as it touched her.  She pushed her hands into her face and made a tortured sob, already trying to fight it back.  The tears were coming.  The tears were too strong to hold back.

_Ghost…by all the Dragon Gods, a ghost.  The eyes, dark and green, broken free of the sepulcher's bounds…I'm being haunted.  Gods…why is this happening?  Has what I seen…actually been here?  Have you sent me these nightmares, these terrors that are given freedom in the absence of sunlight?  Why…why…are these things happening to me?_  Riddel's chest heaved, sucking in another choked breath.  _Why am I not strong enough against these images…?  What is it that always sends them away, when I cannot?  I…I want to be brave again…I want to be brave again.  I want to be brave again.  I want to be brave again._

Riddel drove that through her mind over and over again.  The nightmares and the sensations were breaking her.  The anguish was too much.  She fought back her sobs all the while as her mind turned the thoughts over.  Minutes ticked by as she rested there, huddled against her windowsill, the moon's shine bathing her in comforting light.  It brought her head up at last, her cheeks flushed with crimson as tears caked against them.  Sniffling, Riddel gazed out the window, towards the moon.  There were two moons, actually, but it was the red one that drew her attention.  Its darker, smaller twin was bright with radiance tonight, and yet it could not quite dwarf the eerie, calming crimson glow in the sky.  Riddel kept her eyes on it and nothing else- not even the trees that hung close to her balcony, not even the beautiful dark ocean that could be seen in the distance, not even the pretty balcony off to the side that clung to her father's room.

Dario, Steena, Wayne, Karsh, Glenn- she wondered, fleetingly, if she would ever have them all again, and be brave.  She'd played out in her mind what she would do, should the occasion ever arise when they were all gathered, and without fear.  They would swear under the red moon that they would never part.  Nothing would ever change- none would walk away or leave someone behind.  All walked together, or did not walk at all.  Courage…Riddel had found it in them.  Under the holiest of moons, a vow like that was destined to be immortal.

"But," she said to herself, "he died…before we could do that."  _Taken by the same demons that now haunt me…_

Her window was not shut all the way- she could feel a draft coming in, tickling her neck.  She forced a smile at her own forgetfulness, then reached up for the window to pull it down all the way.  Her hands grasped the top, but she was not strong enough to pull it down from her position.  Frowning, she lifted herself up an inch from the bed, pulling further- 

-and stopped.  Just that slight shift in movement turned her eyes to her father's balcony, and Riddel was rendered silent again.  Someone was…dancing?

There was.  At the very end of the balcony, a petite but supple figure danced, spinning and writhing in a strange rhythm.  It was obviously a woman, with an odd but familiar headdress.  Her legs shimmered with thin blue garments, akin to Riddel's curtain, but her upper body occasionally glinted with hints of red and gold.  Veils and cloths hung at the ends of the dancer's arms and legs, spiraling about her in a peculiar display.  There were bells jingling- Riddel could hear them.  Yet her focus remained on the movements of the dancer, and how they seemed to attract the very light of the moon.  A lunar dance…

Riddel's eyes sharpened.  That figure _was_ familiar.  She pulled herself up a little more, shifting onto her knees and leaning on the corner of the mattress.  Craning her head, she got a better look at the dancer.  The gold came from two little plates on the chest, and the headdress was a jester girl's-

Jester girl.  Riddel gasped.  "The harlequin…?"  
  
As soon as the words had been spoken, the dancer stopped.  She turned towards Riddel, and her face could be seen for all of a moment.  Smooth, snow-white makeup covered a childlike but beautiful face, the sparkles of dark glitter gleaming under red light.  Her eyes were all Riddel could not see, but she knew contact had been made.  They were staring at each other.  Riddel's breath caught with that awareness, and an inexplicable lump formed in her throat.  Even with that choking sensation, however, Riddel remained motionless.  She was transfixed, once again, by a ghost.

The dancer gazed at her a moment longer.  Then, as though sensing something, she stirred, but did not take her eyes off Riddel.  Still watching her, the girl nimbly strode to the end of the balcony- and leapt from it.  Riddel's breath caught, thinking for a moment that the jester had fallen, but it was indeed a jump.  A powerful jump, one that still made Riddel's breath catch with awe, for it carried the dancer up and out of sight, towards the roof of the manor.  And then there was only the radiant red moon to be Riddel's company.  

She watched the area where the girl had disappeared.  A thought stirred, then.  _Was it her, who sent away those eyes…?_

Riddel shivered, still very cold, and hugged her arms over her chilled midriff.  The eyes were the last things she wanted to contemplate at an hour like this.  Yet, that dancer just now- she had not left her with the same feeling.  The weight in her throat was different than the one that had choked her when faced with those eyes.  This one…didn't hurt.  It just felt like it had to be rid of, at some point.

_That was the harlequin, though…have I forgotten her name already?  I will have to ask her…_

Riddel's arms eased away from her belly and fell to her lap.  She felt warmer now, strangely.  She looked back at her pillow, then swallowed.  She wasn't so sure she wanted to sleep after what she had just seen, inside and outside.  If the eyes came back, or that harlequin returned to dance again…

_Then my dreams will simply not go well.  That will be nothing new._

Her eyelids felt heavy.  "Tomorrow…Glenn will take me to Termina," she said drowsily.  "Everything will be better, then…much better…"  She closed her eyes and lowered herself back to the bed, her hair a damp halo around her head.  Everything was dark and tired again, the mixture of heat and cold lost to her.  Her breathing steadied, her small fingers relaxing with the rest of her tired muscles.  Everything was just dreary again.  She wanted to sleep.

She drifted off only minutes later, but in some indiscrete moment, Riddel thought she heard that bell jingle once more.

-------------------  
  
_I'm hearing bells._

That was Serge's first thought on waking up.  The next was that it was pretty dark, and when he opened his eyes, he found he was in his room again.  His bed felt nice and soft, just as it always had, and even without the blankets, it was toasty warm.  The circle-shaped room had not changed either, except for the lack of the little palm trees he'd like to plant in pots around the place.  But his walls were wooden and glossy, and there were a few stands for little island sculptures and even a rack of lion shark teeth on one end.  The curtain on one wall was wide open, baring the dark blue light that told him it was just before dawn, and outside he could hear the waves rushing for the shore.

It took a few blinks, but Serge remembered it wasn't his home anymore.  He squeezed his eyes shut again, his face pulsing with pain.  _Damn, no wonder I'm hearing bells…Karsh almost broke my jaw.  Ugh…I think I swallowed a molar.  Where's my Swallow?  No, wait, hell with that, how'd I get here?_

He thought about that.  He remembered so little of the hike from Cape Howl to Arni, but he did recall his entire body burning with pain and heat, hearing Exeter say something about how he'd forgotten his robe, hearing a woman gasp when they finally reached Arni…and all the while, Kid had held him very closely.  Way, way too closely.  It could have been his imagination, but he swore he'd felt her cheek brush against his, once, as he'd stumbled along with them.  The white paint there had still been wet, and part of it had touched the corner of his mouth.

_…ehe, Sergey, it's morning.  Do you really want to think about girls?_

He knew what that thought entailed and frantically pushed it out of his head.  "Ah, for cryin' out loud…"  He turned onto his side, now both groggy and irritated.  Damn, but he didn't feel good.  His arm still hurt from where Karsh had hacked him with the axe, and his ribs and legs ached from the Deva's kicks, and to top it all off, his bandana was nowhere to be found.  Where he'd tied it on his right arm, there was only a white bandage now.  He sighed; he'd be pissed if it had fallen off along the trek to Arni.

Serge looked towards the open curtain, thankful that it was dark- his eyes stung enough that he didn't need to have sunlight blaze into them.  Still, he didn't quite want that curtain open.  He moved his right elbow gingerly to grab the cord at the head of the bed, and then jolted as it bumped something next to him.  Someone gasped- Serge recognized who it was, even before he found a dark blonde crown of hair resting against the side of his mattress.

Kid turned her head back and gave him a tired smile.  "Nice to see you're up, mate."  
  


Serge blinked.  _First she's there when I dream, now she's here when I wake up…what the hell?_  "What the…um…morning, I guess."  He coughed sheepishly.  "H-how long have you been down there?"  
  
She smiled, stretching her arms along the sides of the bed- that let him see the blanket draped over her legs.  "Ever since me and yer buddy dragged ya up here," she said.  "Oi, but he didn't wanna leave his coat back there…he went back in the middle o' the night to get it.  I dunno if he's back yet, but I told him to watch his guard anyhow…"

"Oh, hehe…yeah, that sounds like Exeter."  Serge tucked in his right arm, touching the white bandage wrapped around his bicep.  Finding the pain had faded, he smiled some.  "I, uh…I'm sorry you had to sleep on the floor…"  
  
Kid snickered.  "Been waitin' for ages to hear a guy say that, hah!  Mate, I've slept on so many things, that bed sure looks an isle of joy, it does…but, you're the one that got hurt.  I ain't gonna let you sleep on the floor."  
  
_So nice to me and I almost screamed at her not to touch me…geez, that's real mature.  Well, that ain't happening again…wait, "ain't"?  Is she already going to my head?_  Serge lowered his head until his face touched his pillow.  Damned if she wasn't getting into his head- she'd been doing that ever since the day before.  Or was it even the day before?  Serge felt like a week had passed since he and Exeter had gone out looking for those stupid scales.  Shaking his head clear, he pushed up on his left arm, hugging his right to his ribs.  It hurt to do that, and Kid didn't seem too pleased, but Serge was fed up with being periodically unconscious.

"Come on up here," Serge said, smiling.  "You shouldn't sleep on the floor.  I'm all right now…"  
  
Kid's lip quirked, then curved up.  "Ain't you a gentleman, hah," she said.  "I ain't tired no more, mate…ahh, really ain't!"  She stifled a yawn as she spoke.  "I'm comfy where I am."  
  
Serge shook his head.  "This is…was, my room.  I don't want anyone sleeping on the floor."  
  
"Eh?  Was?"  Kid blinked, then her head jolted back.  "Oh…oh, right…your friend told me more on the way."  
  
"Heh.  So you know."  Serge hung his head.  "I'm…not from here.  Not this place.  I mean, I am from this place, but…something's…wrong.  There was this wave on the seashore, and I heard someone calling my name, and then…then I heard something else-"  
  
_Come to me._

The voice resounded in his skull.  He closed his eyes and parted his lips, a shiver running through him.  That was messed up, seriously messed up.  A voice just wasn't supposed to sound like that.  It wasn't possible to have that much menace, that much malice behind words like that.  He couldn't fit a face to what could have possibly spoken.  If he didn't know better, he'd have said that was the voice of…of an animal.  A hungry, evil animal.

His fingers found the scar on his palm.  It tingled.  

Kid had tilted her head, her blue eyes narrowed.  "Mate…?"  
  
Serge shook his head.  "S-sorry…but, my point is, I don't want you sleeping on the floor.  Come on…please?  Just as a way of saying thanks?"  
  
She smiled wryly, sighed, and then pulled herself up. She kept her blanket around her legs, and he noticed just then that she wasn't wearing her jacket.  It left her shoulders bare and drew attention to spots that didn't help his situation.  Serge sucked in and turned his eyes away as she sat down on the mattress beside him.   

Kid didn't seem to mind.  "Well, if this'll make ya happy…but we ain't got much room this way."  She cocked an eyebrow.  "You ain't tryin' any of that funny stuff, now, are ya?"  
  
Serge brought up his hand and shook it eagerly.  "No!  No no no no no NO, no, no, no, no!  I'm not like Exeter, believe me- ugh!"  
  
Kid slapped his back, giggling.  "I'm kiddin', mate!  Ahh, you nice guys…you're always so fun to tease."  She smiled and tugged her knees in, draping the blanket over them.  "Brrr, it's cold," she said.  "Damn island weather…it's hot durin' the day but I freeze my arse off during the night and mornin'…"

  
He grinned.  "Better get used to it.  The mornings are nice, though, especially at this time…the cold actually makes the coconut milk cool and fresh."  Serge raised his finger and pointed to a tree that was swaying just outside his window.  "Yeah, that tree…I used to climb up it and grab two, maybe three coconuts.  Tasted so good…"  
  
Kid was quiet, gazing at the tree he pointed to.  He wondered if he'd said something wrong, but after a moment, she giggled.  "Coconut milk, eh…?"  She hopped up to her feet, suddenly, and turned to him.  "Want me to get some for us?"

Serge blinked.  "W-wait, I wasn't trying to imply-"  
  
"I like coconuts, too, mate!  Just be glad yer friend isn't around, though- I couldn't do it in fronta him," Kid said.

Serge tilted his head.  "Why not?"  
  
Kid scuffed her foot.  "Ahm, tell me, mate, what do these coconuts o' yours look like again?"

"Well, they're brown, hard, kind…of…"  He trailed off, his eyes growing wide.  "Oh.  OH."  
  
Kid grinned, then reached over and gave his head a really hard swat.  He yelped.  "Ow!  Hey, I wasn't thinking of anything like that!" 

"Oh, sure ya weren't."  She winked.  "So, want me to get yer nuts?"  
  
Serge clapped his hands to his ears.  "I'm not hearing this, I'm not hearing this, I'm not hearing this-"  
  
Kid held her stomach as she laughed.  "Haha, sorry-dorry!  I just can't help seein' ya all flustered and whatnot."  She stretched again, and this time he just had to look away.  "Ah, well, I'll get to fixin' some breakfast, how's that?  I usually don't cook for nobody but me, but you still look a bit tired…"

He sighed.  "Save my ass at Cape Howl, march me all the way back here, watch over me in the night, now you want to cook me breakfast…man.  Are you this…nice, to everybody?"  
  
The girl crossed her arms behind her head.  "Well…not 'specially, I don't suppose.  I ain't really the pillar of innocence I look, y'know- probably figured that from the getup, eh?"  
  
Serge twisted his lip.  "Well…"  
  
"Nah, go ahead and say it…everybody else does."  Kid shook her head.  "I dunno.  I don't nab from the rich 'n give to the poor or anythin' like that, but…you know, mate…the funniest things have been happenin' for a couple days now."  
  
He frowned.  "Funniest things?"  
  
"Yeah.  I didn't see no moon the night before last, and there've been some funny sounds coming from Fossil Valley, too," Kid said.  "And…ah, hell, never mind, it's crazy…"  
  
Serge brushed his hands through his hair- damn, he missed his bandana.  "As crazy as me saying I come from another world…?"  
  
"In a way.  I've been hearin' your name, Serge."  
  
His head cocked back.  "Hearing my name…?"  
  
She nodded.  "Mm.  While I was hangin' around Cape Howl, I heard something whisper into my ear…'Serge.'  Like it was calling to me…oi, but it sounded so sad."  She hugged her arm to her side.  "Like the person sayin' it was hurt or somethin'…dunno why it got to me, but, hah, truth be told, mate, I kinda…cracked a tear or two."  Kid forced a chuckle.  "But, that's a secret 'tween you and me, kay?"  
  
"Oh…yeah, sure," Serge said, idly.  His name being called…hadn't he heard that too, before leaving Leena at the harbor?  And once again at the shore.  If Kid had been hearing the same thing…

_Detrimental or not, what the hell is going on?  Scarred-up but good-looking fisherman kid gets ripped out of home world and planted in another world where he's supposed to be dead, meets up with a spunky, cute girl, and gets attacked by a bunch of weird-looking bad guys.  Wow.  My mind is…blown.  Ah, maybe there's a book on this somewhere…_

He scratched the back of his head.  "I believe you…I've heard the same thing.  My name being yelled out, but…I don't think I heard the same thing you did."  
  
Kid frowned.  "Why not?"  
  
"Because the voice that called my name said…a lot of other stuff."  Serge swallowed.  "Stuff I…don't want to say out loud."  
  
"What'd the voice sound like, then?" Kid asked.  "Maybe it was the same as mine, who knows?"  
  
Serge thought for a second.  "I remember it was…kind of deep, accented?  Not gravelly, actually pretty…hmm, what's the word?  Eloquent.  The kind of voice you'd hear coming from the bad guy in a fairy tale, but, well…there was something in there that was even…even different from that.  Gods, it's just…I've heard that voice before.  I have, I really have.  It clicks in my head when I think about it, and I can just barely make out this outline in my mind, but then it just fades away.  It's hard to tell…"  
  
He looked towards her eyes again.  They were settled on something he couldn't see, and for a moment, he thought he saw a flash in them.  There was a pause, then Kid shrugged.  "Heh, that is a little out there for even me, mate," she said, smiling regretfully.  "But, hell with it all, it's bound t'make sense sooner or later."  
  
Her face betrayed something, but Serge wasn't sure what it was.  Almost like she was hiding something, but then again, he _had_ just told her he was hearing voices in his head.  Maybe he belonged somewhere a little cozier and with thick padded walls.  Shaking his head, Serge put his hands on his knees and forced himself up.  "I guess it will.  Ah…tell you what, let's forget those coconuts for now.  I'm sure this place has something to eat in it."  
  
"If you say so, but I ain't averse to climbin' for coconuts if that's what you want," Kid said.  "Hehe, maybe I can grab a spare to chuck at that blonde bugger when he gets back!"  
  
Serge let himself smirk.  "I think that if there's one thing Exeter's not good at, it's handling other people's nuts."  
  
Kid put her hand over her mouth and laughed into it.  "Ooh, I'll remember that, mate!"

Serge winked, then uneasily slid his hands into his pockets.  "So, uh…what happened to your jacket?"  
  
"Ah, I took that ol' thing off when I got here- had to patch this up."  Kid gestured to her arm, which had been bandaged at the forearm and shoulder.  Then she looked at him and tilted her head.  "Why do ya ask?"  
  
"Huh?  Oh, no reason, you just look, uh, different, without it," Serge said.  "I guess I'm used to seeing you in red and yellow, already."  
  
Kid smiled, putting her very bare arms over her sternum.  Her shirt tightened.  "Or you wanted to see more o' the merchandise, eh?"  
  
Serge gaped, then shook his head violently.  "No no no no no no!  Really, I ju…oh, you're kidding, right?"  
  
"Riiight.  Ah, sorry, I'm a tease."  She grinned, then put her hands behind her back and leaned forward to look him over.  "Hmm…interestin' choice o' clothes yourself, Serge me mate.  Black shirt 'n comfy blue slacks…what's the deal with the fishnet…vest…thingamajig, though?"  
  
"This thing?"  He pinched the front of the vest with one hand, fluffing it out.  "Oh, heh…this is one of my dad's old shirts.  It's too loose for me, so I have to tuck it in."  He smiled wryly.  "He was a big guy…probably over six feet, close to six and a half."  
  


"Ohh."  Kid nodded, then scuffed a foot.  "He's…gone, now?"  
  
"Yeah, he's gone," Serge said.  "Died in a storm…usually, that's how people die in my village.  Too many fishermen…"

  
"Oi…sorry to hear that, mate."  Kid scratched the back of her head.  "Can't, um…can't say I know how it feels to lose somebody important…always been alone 'n all."  
  
 "I wouldn't want you to find out."  He decided to change the subject while he had the chance.  His arm had begun to ache again, so he touched it gently.  "Damn, that still hurts…"  
  
Kid winced.  "Oi, right- wish I had a Tablet on hand…you gonna be okay?  I can change your bandage…well, if you want me to."  
  
Serge knew what she was talking about, there.  "Hey, look, about the 'don't touch me' thing…I'm sorry.  I'm just…I don't like being touched in a few spots.  Just this thing I've had for a long time.  It wasn't you or anything-"  
  
He stopped.  Kid was snickering.  "What's so funny?" he asked.

"Haha, nah, nothin'…just that I got the same thing," Kid said, hugging her wounded arm to her side.  "Don't really like bein' touched.  Got my reasons, just like you.  Wow…funny.  You don't like bein' touched, you got blue eyes, and you've been hearin' voices for as long as me- I don't feel so special no more!"  
  
_Common ground already.  That's disturbing.  Gods, she does look familiar, and not just from my dream…her face, it's like I've seen it somewhere before.  Where do I know this girl from?_

Serge opened his mouth to speak,  then went straight.  He smelled something.  He sniffed again, and his taste buds began to tingle.  "Huh…hey, Kid, you smell that?"  
  
"Grr!" Kid stomped her foot.  "If I had a gold piece for every time I heard _that_!  Look, Serge, just 'cause we're surrounded by water don't mean there's soap to boot, either-"  
  
He waved his arms.  "No, no, not you, I smell something downstairs…"  
  
Kid stopped, then tapped her head.  "Hmm, well, that Exeter guy don't look much like he uses the right shampoo, himself-"  
  
Serge slapped his forehead.  "I smell something el…well, actually, no, he doesn't…but I smell something that doesn't stink."  He took in another deep whiff, and found his tongue rapidly dampening.  "Wow…it smells good, whatever it is.  I think…someone's cooking?"  
  


She sniffed the air.  "Ooh…I do smell something cookin'!  Smells like a stir-fry, kinda.  Hoo, whee, this early in the mornin'…maybe Exeter came back?"  
  
Daylight was already beginning to show.  Serge gave a full-body shrug.  "Whatever it is, I'm up for checking it out.  I haven't eaten anything since the night before last…"  He chuckled at that- the last real meal he'd had was some of his mother's cooking.  Fried sea bass with pineapple and seaweed, he remembered.  His stomach growled enough that he bent over; his mom always cooked the best stuff.  Even that Termina squid gut crap wasn't on par with it.  

Thinking of his mother, though, probably wasn't prudent.  A hollow pang ran through his gut as Serge remembered what Leena had told him.  His mother was dead…but, then again, so was he.  _And do ghosts get hungry?_

He rested his hand on his belt- paused.  "Hey, where's my Swallow?"  
  
Kid blinked.  "Your what now?"  
  
"My Swallow."  
  
"…uh…you mean you can't swallow?  Is your jaw still hurtin'?"  
  
Serge slapped his forehead.  "No, my Swallow!  The thing I hit people with."  
  
"Oi, that!"  Kid grinned sheepishly, walking over to the nightstand by his bed.  She leaned down and rummaged a moment, bringing up his damaged Swallow- as well as her red and yellow jacket.  She ran a finger along the edge that had been sliced in two.  "I hung it over here so ya wouldn't fall on it or nothin'.  Damn, it got trashed, though…"  

Serge winced.  "I noticed…here, toss me it."  
  
She did, and he caught it.  "Heh, you ain't thinkin' of attackin' our cook, are ya?"  
  
"Oh, no way, not at all."  Serge slung his Swallow over his shoulder and smiled.  "But I always eat with my baby here."  
  
Kid laughed, gesturing to the dagger fitted on the waistband of her skirt.  "I know whatcha mean.  Don't go nowhere without this bab- hey, your eyes ain't on what I think they're on, are they?"  
  
Serge went pink.  "Huh!?"  
  
"Kidding!"  
  
_Damn.  Er, better not look anymore._  Serge forced a grin.  "You weird me out, Kid."  
  
"S'what I do best."  She whipped out her jacket in the air, spun once, and slid her arms stylishly through it.  She tugged the flaps forward and winked at him.  The display impressed him.  He gave her a grin and clapped a little.  She raised both eyebrows and put her hands behind her head, tilting her hips out with a sultry wink.  He clapped more, but sucked in quietly- he almost wished he had a portrait to take of her right then.  The dawn light was hitting her back and gave her dark blonde hair a brighter tone, her slender body in that cocky position and a suggestive look in her eyes.

Serge breathed.  "Damn."  
  
 "Ah?"  She blinked.  "What?"  
  
He coughed into a fist.  "Oh, nothing…it's just that you're so hot and all."

The white paint failed to hide the pink on her cheeks.  "Wha!?"  
  
"Kidding!"  
  
She slapped her cheek.  "Oi, you…I'm gonna kick yer arse."  
  
Serge grinned.  "Before I 'kiss your moons', you'll have to catch me!"  
  
He didn't even wait for her to react.  Spinning, he bolted to his doorway and down the steps, as he'd done so many times before.  He heard Kid shout "oi" and rush after him, her feet thudding loudly behind him.  Serge grinned all the way, running down two steps at a time.  The stairs differed in no way from the ones he knew; he counted each one as he ran by.  _Three, five seven aah I think she's pulling out her dagger!_

At the eleventh step, Serge hopped off, and the cooler air of the bottom floor greeted him.  He skidded to a halt, glad to see his legs were feeling strong enough to outrun a scantily-clad wild girl-

-who tackled him to the ground right after that thought.

"Oof!"  Serge went down under Kid and landed on his stomach, wincing.  "Hey, ow, that hurt!"  
  
Kid giggled and sat up to pin him down with one arm on the back of his neck as the other went to his side- and began to tickle.  "Aha!  Say uncle, mate!  Nah, on second thought, say 'Kid is the greatest, beautifulest, bestest girl in the whole world, I'd kiss the grass she walks on as soon as she kicked me arse, and if I flirt with her ever again it'll be in taste, oi!'"  
  
He was too busy squirming and laughing to say that.  "Aaah, stop stop stop-"  
  
"Well, look who finally decided to grace me with their presences."  
  
Both he and Kid broke off at the voice.  Serge looked over with her to the kitchen counter, where the smell of the food was strongest.  He gaped, but this time, it wasn't because of a girl's tight clothing.  Beside the kitchen counter, her long hair absent of the headband, looking tired as hell and with a sad smile on her face, was Leena.  

He blinked a few times- maybe it was a trick of the eyes.  A lot of girls wore those haggard, beat-up dresses.  Not all girls, though, had those gorgeous golden eyes that were rimmed with red from crying, or from staying up too late.  That was Leena.  The frying pan she'd turned on him just hours earlier now held sizzling vegetables and meat.  She was cooking.

"What the…?"  Serge narrowed his eyes.  "Wh…why are you here?"

"And who the hell are you?" Kid asked, not yet getting off Serge.  
  
She smiled, and again, it was terribly sad.  "Just so you both know…maybe not for the first time…my name _is_ Leena.  I'm sorry for the surprise, but you two looked so exhausted last night, and…um…I thought I'd make you a bit of breakfast…"  
  
Seeing her was too much of a shock for him to totally understand what she had said, but his attention was elsewhere all the same.  With that eerily familiar sad smile, the simple way she held the ladle, the glimmer of her eyes and hair in the morning light, and the kind of voice she'd just spoken in then, it was like seeing something for the first time all over again.  His vision flashed, and for a moment, he imagined his mother standing next to Leena in that same position.  
  
_…cosmic._  Serge shook his head, lost in thought as he stared at a girl he'd never expected to see again.  _Oh, but, gee, Mom…I hate stir-fry._


	8. Those Made to Leave

**Chapter VII :: Those Made To Leave**

_Arni Village, El Nido 02, 1020 A.D._

She didn't get it.  Truer to the point, she didn't get how someone could come back to life without ever having lived before.  The pretty, blue-haired boy sitting across from her had drowned only ten years before.  Now he was stuffing his face full of stir-fry, when he should have had his lungs full of water.  His skin should have long since joined the dust on the sea floor, but though it was darkened from battle and littered with fading cuts and bruises, it was tan now, living.  His eyes were happy, not closed forever.  

As he ate, Leena felt like throwing up.  He wasn't dead.  He really wasn't dead.

Leena folded her hands on the table and tried to let her stomach settle, watching the boy.  He and the other girl had been wolfing down her stir-fry for a few minutes now, as though making up for a year-long fast.  Every bite he took was accompanied by a wince, as though sinuses were bothering him, but still he didn't slow down.  She almost smiled, and would have shown it were her mouth not covered by her hands.  She still felt nauseous, and watching him gobble up that hot, greasy food wasn't helping.

"Mmfarff!"  The other girl stuffed a ball of vegetables and meat the size of a fist into her mouth.  Leena's stomach turned, and she pinched her fingers over her lips.  _Ugh, I don't like the sound of that 'crunch'…_

The boy- _Serge, for Dragons' sakes, just call him Serge_- put down his fork, and sighed.  "Oh, man…that was nothing like mom used to make," he said.  "Thanks so much, I was starving."

"Oh, uh…you're very welcome."  Leena couldn't help but tinge pink.  So that was what it felt like, getting complimented on your cooking.  "Did you get enough?  I can make more, if you like…"

The girl took a big gulp of her drink- some coconut milk Leena had gathered that morning.  "Mm!  I ain't got no complaints fer that, girlie."  She wiped her mouth- _with a napkin_, Leena noticed- and smiled cheerily.  "Thanks a bunch!  I ain't had a hot meal in days, feels like."

Leena scratched her cheek in speculation.  The girl wasn't wearing much other than a short red jacket and skirt, and mangled white shirt underneath, and that pretty violet necklace, if that and shoes counted.  There was that nasty-looking dagger to dispel all criticism, but the poor girl!  She suspected the girl had been attacked by bandits, reducing her beautiful dress to rags like that.  Oddly enough, though, she didn't seem to care.  Nothing dampened her spirits, Leena imagined.  

_She can't possibly enjoy dressing like that, anyway…can she?_

She was musing too much.  "Oh, thank you!  Wow, the two of you really like my cooking?"

Serge gave her a bright smile.  "I love the smell of stir fry, but I can't stand the taste.  Way too greasy.  You did it just right, though!  Like I said, even…"  His smile slackened a little.  "Even m-my mom didn't do it that well."

Leena chewed the inside of her cheek.  His mother, his mother, his mother…back when she was a kid, this place _had_ belonged to little Serge and his parents, Wazuki and Marge, but they were all long since dead.  Their deaths had been bad omens- maybe the drowning of young Serge was what had driven Radius into final exile.  

_Maybe calling him 'Serge' wasn't such a good idea._  

"I'm flattered…sort of."  Leena said, leaning her elbows on the table.  "Can I ask you two something, though?"

They looked at each other- the girl with her mouth full of another bite- and nodded.

"Who are you two?  And where is Exeter?  And what happened?"

Serge chuckled.  "That's three somethings, but that's all right.  Heh, you already know my name- believe it or not, that's up to you."

She begged herself not to flinch.

"But anyway, this is Kid," he said, gesturing to the girl.  "That's what she calls herself, anyway."

Kid swallowed her bite and flashed a monkey grin.  "That's me!  I got a full name or some such, but I can never pronounce the bloomin' thing.  Bloody accent o' mine!"  She pressed her pinky to her throat and cleared it.  "Ahem!  Much as my voice is like a siren song, it don't come in handy fer those far-off eastern places…"

Leena smiled.  "You're from the east?"

"Sorta.  I'm from the Zenan Mainland, or whatever, close to some dead kingdom.  My…"  She paused, then continued.  "The girl who raised me found me out there.  Guess I was an orphan or somethin'."

"Oh…"  Leena's smile faded.  "I'm sorry.  I'm almost glad I don't know what that's like."

Kid smiled cheerily, but her fork was shaking in her grip.  "Ahh, nothing to be growin' wrinkles over.  We're _way_ too young to be gettin' like onions."

Leena glanced at the stir fry before her new friends and caught the joke.  It wasn't very funny, but she laughed anyway.  "Words of wisdom!  So, then, Kid from the East, and…and Serge.  Hah, Kid and Serge."  She smiled a flat smile, but her gaze softened some.  "What happened to you two?  I checked in on you just an hour ago and your wounds were just…" 

"That bad, huh?"  Serge lifted up his injured arm and flexed the bicep.  Leena flinched, but out of surprise- he didn't even wince.  He patted his shoulder and surprised her with a monkey grin.  "I'm shipshape, don't you worry!  I outran Kid here, after all.  Little Miss Spunk here was hot on my tail and I still- _yeow_!"

"OI!  I'll Little Miss Spunk you!"  

A bead of sweat- probably from the heat- ran down Leena's neck as Kid jumped out of her seat and tackled Serge out of his stool.  It clattered amidst the sounds of a wailing island boy and the blonde eastern girl that was tickling him.  Leena watched their little horseplay and felt like chuckling- almost like watching Kiki and Lolo trying to drown each other.  Then again, she doubted either of them had the murderous glint in their eyes as Kid did.  If this went on, though, the poor boy would probably end up with his head wedged inside one of his shoes.

_And I still can barely bring myself to call him 'Serge.'_  

Leena groaned, exasperated, and rubbed her forehead.  It was the heat making her feel this nauseous, just had to be- never mind the fact that the morning was cool outside, it was just hot in here.  Probably all that work at the oven, and she'd put a little too much _lulaku_ oil into the stir fry.  Delicious, but it made her queasy.  About as queasy as seeing a boy she'd thought was dead- that _was_ dead- would make her feel.

He howled and laughed.  She nearly retched.  He even laughed the same way.

"Aah, get off me, no!"  He pried himself up, now missing a shoe and with his shirt turned around his upper body.  He slapped his forehead.  "Ugh, man, I'm getting too old for that stuff."

"Bugger you, mate!  You ain't no fun if you don't even fight back!"  Kid planted herself- neatly and triumphantly- into her chair, and smiled.  "Ah, well, now that that lesson's been given, let's have seconds!"

Leena wasn't quite paying attention to that, but her hand reached out for Kid's plate anyway.  Absent-mindedly, her fingers latched onto the plate's edge, slipping on some of the oil.  She pulled it across, clumsily and slowly, but could not stop thinking.  She couldn't believe it hadn't set in yet.  

Why _hadn't_ it set in yet?  Strange and wonderful things happened every day.  The great Sky Dragon soared every day over the islands of El Nido- she heard accounts of Its flights every day from the traders that came to Arni.  She heard of guardian ghosts, too, from haunted Fossil Valley to the eerie mists that prowled over the currents to the southeast.  There were rumors of long-dead Hydra spawning in the marshes just a day's travel away, and there was even a rumor of some lost, ancient relic that had resurfaced in modern times.  What was so strange about a boy coming back to life, conveniently ten years older and as happy as he'd been in his childhood-

-and whose eyes she was staring into.

_I'm staring at- WHAT!?  Oh, damn!_  She snapped out of the trance, wide-eyed.  "Oh, oh!  Sorry, I didn't…I mean, I was staring 'cause I was thinking about something else…"  Leena felt about eight hundred beads of sweat climbing down her back and instantly cursed herself.  

Serge had a touch of pink on his cheeks.  "That's all right, was rude of me to stare back anyway…"  He plopped back down in his stool and stretched.  "Ah, your question.  Whew, I don't know how to star-"

"Me, Serge, and Blondie kicked some Dragoon _arse_, that's what happened!"

_…did I just hear that right?_  Leena looked at Kid sharply.  "You did what?"

Serge raised a hand before Kid could speak.  "No, wait, we didn't mug them or anything!  I swear!"  His gaze was serious.  "I swear.  Really, I went up to the Cape to see…to see what was up there.  But, a De…a deployment of soldiers ambushed me and Exeter there.  We had no choice."

Leena gaped.  "You…you killed them?"

"No!" he said, in a voice that told her there were no arguments on that.  "No, we just fought them off.  Kid came along and helped us, and then this other guy in a crazy monk getup got ahold of their rides or something."  

Strange and wonderful things- right.  Leena narrowed her eyes, but did not frown.  "Why would soldiers come after someone paying their respects?"

"Hah!"  Kid put her elbows on the table with a loud thump, and glared between her fists at Leena.  "Why would they?  Gee, for starters, the buggers only have trust in what they don't see!  Ya so much as mention ghosts and goblins around 'em and you're smoked!  Damn, I mean, I hear havin' a rabbit's foot gets ya a nice set o' handcuffs in Termina…"  She scowled.  "And I thought beatin' those Porre bastards would get 'em to treat their people better."

Leena sighed.  "Yeah…yeah, I've heard about that.  It's not the best time to tell all those scary campfire stories, is it?"  She slid a nail along the fine wood of the table.  "Hmm…Porre changed a lot of things.  Killed our Garai.  Toppled our allies in the East.  They almost took Guldove and Termina…"

_They returned my dad to the sea_.

She swallowed.  "Porre…I have to think it was hopeless, either way.  Losing the war, we'd be just be little puppets now, no real government except military rule.  Winning the war, though…you hear about all these jumps at superstition, at folklore, that ten or twenty years ago wouldn't have made a difference at all to the Dragoons.  Now, though, even the Magical Dreamers have to watch what they say in their lyrics.  If it's too fantastical…hmm."  Leena lifted the nail up, and bit on its corner.  "I have to think the war…did something to General Viper and the rest.  It did something to Exeter.  Like…I don't know how to describe it, but it wasn't just the violence.  It was something else.  Something hidden in that war, something _mystical_.."

Leena looked up, and met Serge's gaze evenly, now on purpose.  "I have to think…I have to think that if we lost, maybe things would be better…"

Serge seemed to grow pale.  He looked at Kid, as though nervous, awaiting.  Leena furrowed her brow, studying him; an honest thought like that shouldn't have affected him as much.  Yet that reaction, just for a moment, betrayed honesty- she knew enough of people to get what that meant.  So, perhaps that idea of a strange and wonderful thing wasn't that far off.

Kid's chair grated on the floor as she pulled herself up a bit.  She breathed in, long and slow, and looked to Leena.  "I don't think me mate here is feelin' up to explainin', so…"  She fiddled her hands in her lap, struggling to keep her eyes on Leena.  "This guy, Serge…he's…well, he's…ahh, it's a pain in the arse to expla-"

"I'm not from this world."

She was glad her chair was stable.  As it was, Leena had to lean on the armrests to hold herself up.  Serge looked down as soon as he was finished speaking, but that did not mollify the shock any.  Leena stared at him, not caring even as Kid slapped her forehead.  She wanted to soften her eyes, stay calm and cool, but the only expression her face allowed her to have was that of sharp, shocked disbelief.

_Alien.  Ghost.  Doppleganger.  Mystic double…thing…person…oh, gods, why'd a day like this have to dawn?_

"I'm…not."  Serge scratched his nail over the edge of the table.  "I don't know why I didn't realize this sooner.  There was no palm tree at Opassa Beach.  There were no Komodo pups at Lizard Rock.  My best friend since…well, since _diapers_ didn't recognize me."

Leena winced.

"And, well…"  Serge glanced to Kid, then Leena, and held a wry smile.  "There is the whole me-being-dead thing."

Kid chuckled, but Leena remained quiet.  She pressed her hand to her forehead, taking a slow breath in.  It felt cold in her throat.  She didn't remember ever feeling that kind of cold in dreams.  And dreams didn't feel like this.  She chuckled nervously.  "I…this isn't a dream at all, is it?" 

Serge shook his head.  "If it was a drea-"

"If it was a dream, you two lovely ladies would be fanning me in harem outfits."

Leena suddenly wished she had her frying pan in hand.  As he came walking through the door with a smug smile, Exeter looked like a very appetizing human punching bag.  He set down his sword in the corner, and Leena noticed he was carrying some sort of metal plate- armor, maybe- over his back.  The swordsman held up his hands as soon as he looked back up, and once again dispelled her anger with that grin of his.

_Maybe if I just pretend his head is an egg, and say 'this is your brain on mushroom extract…'_

"Ladies, gentle-Serge, how good to see you again!"  Exeter grabbed a stool beside the little hammock by the window, and pulled it up to the table.  He dropped that metal lump he'd been carrying with him on the table, with as little grace and as much noise as possible.  Leena jumped again.  _What the…that's Dragoon armor!_

Exeter hopped neatly onto the stool, and winked- particularly in Kid's direction.  "So, did you guys miss me?"

Kid smiled.  "Like I'd miss a throbbin' zit."

"Huzzah for warm welcomes!"  Exeter brushed back some sort of dust from his hair, and gestured to the armor.  "Well now!  I went back to Cape Howl and return bearing gifts.  Sort of.  That breastplate's the one Kid here took off that Mintaka chick.  It's a pity she didn't take off mo- oh, please don't stab me."

Kid put down her dagger, and smiled again.  A second later something thudded under the table, and Exeter bit his lower lip.  "Ow…ch…"

Serge chuckled, fumbling in the armor.  "So you went back for armor?  That's it?"

"Hah!  That's no regular armor, young apprentice!"  Exeter looked towards Leena with a lopsided smile.  "It's pure steel.  Most stuff we get around here is either lionshark bone or just bronze, but this is almost unbreakable.  Kid banged it up around the rim, but it's still hard as…uh…steel."  He gave the armor a good slap.  "I figure we can either pawn it or use it to give you a better Swallow.  Termina has a pretty good forge-"

_Termina?_

"Termina?"  Serge frowned.  "Wait, why are we going there?"

"Oi!"  Kid slapped her forehead.  "I forgot to tell him…"

The smugness left Exeter's face, replaced by a wry look.  "Yeah, Kid and I talked over it," he said.  "Serge, things…are a little different in this place, obviously."

Leena winced.  Again.

"The Viper Manor you and I know is still here," Exeter said.  "You already know that from what happened at the Cape.  Aside from Karsh, I don't know how many other Devas might still be alive, but I do know that if one fails, another…rectifies that, and in much heavier numbers.  Simply put, this area is no longer safe.  We don't have a boat, and even if we did, there are Dragoon patrol ships on the route up to Guldove.  The east marshes are no place to be.  We definitely can't stay in Arni."

Serge nodded.  "Yeah, I know…heh.  I figured I couldn't stay here anyway."  He pulled the breastplate over to him, and set his chin glumly on its surface.  "Too many looks…"

Kid tipped her head forward and put her hand on his shoulder- something Leena was now begging herself to do.  She straightened in her seat and fought back a sigh that was too heavy to give.  From wonder to guilt and confusion…

_It wasn't just soldiers.  He fought Karsh.  He fought_ Karsh.  _Gods, no wonder he was bleeding and bruised!  Why would a Deva come after a boy like him?  What could they possibly want from someone who's…who's not even supposed to exist?_  She cringed.  _Stupid me, that's an awful thing to think…_

Exeter continued over her thoughts.  "Yeah, I know what you mean.  But…"  He grinned, and the room seemed a little brighter.  "But, it turns out Lady Luck herself is with us, and in a rather appealing ensemble too.  Termina's still in swing, in this world.  Our friend Kid has some friends over there who'd be willing to hide us- help us lay low for a little while and figure out what to do.  It's got the sea to the west and a mountain range to the east that keeps it separated from the Dragoon HQ at Viper Manor."  He and Serge looked more and more uncomfortable with each word, but he continued.  "Even with the environmental advantage, we have a clear shot there- there's a forge, supply shops, clothing stores, food, boats, everything we need."

Serge blinked.  "That's…probably expensive- ack!"

Kid yanked him into a noogie.  "Oh, come on!  You don't think I'd just leave you hangin', do ya?  Not after I just met you 'n all."  She let him go and fake-boxed his cheek.  "Me and my buddies can loan you some gold.  We got lots of it."

_Oh, so she just sold her clothes, I see!  _Leena sighed. _ I was worried there for a moment…_

"And before you even think of saying 'I don't want to impose,'" Exeter said, "I'll find a way to pay them back.  If all else fails, I'll sell my body."

Every eye in the room turned to him.

"…or, um, I could just, you know, help out in a bar or something."  Exeter looked like he was sweating pints.

Serge chuckled, nervously.  "O…kay, sure, whatever you say."  He tucked his head towards the breastplate again.  "So, we go to Termina.  I'm all right with that, though I haven't exactly ever been there."

"Oh, it's good."  Exeter winked.  "Trust me.  It's good."

Serge laughed.  "Yeah, okay, I'll take your word for it," he said.  "But if the geography isn't that different, then we still have to go through Fossil Valley."

"Nah, don't worry about that."  Kid's smile popped up again as she reached up to adjust her braid- which _really_ needed a good scrub.  "There's just a few Dragoons up there, and they've been stationed in that dump for a coupla months now.  I don't think that Karsh guy would've told 'em anythin' yet."

Serge tilted his head.  "How do you figure?"

"With that monkey- er, monk guy loosin' his dragoon rides?"  She laughed.  "I really don't think he'da caught 'em by now."

"Hmm, good point!  Probably not the first time our friend Karsh has spent a night chasing crazed, hormonal reptiles…"  Exeter smirked.  "But I'm not the kind to point that out, am I?"

"Oh, 'course not," Kid said, sticking her tongue in her cheek.  "And on the plus side, some of my mates hang out in the Valley- mainly just to piss off the guards and all that.  They'll help us out, too!"

"Let's hope they are just like you, Kid.  I will rely on your beauty to help me through this dreadfully long journey."  Exeter apparently hadn't run out of snake oil yet.  "Anyway!  So it's settled.  We'll pass through Fossil Valley to Termina, hide out for a while and see what we can do next.  And, ah, if there's time, perhaps our lovely Kid would let me treat her to a little wine-"

"Do you _want_ to kiss the moons, buddy?"

Exeter looked to Serge with a gleam in his eye.  Something must have seemed wrong about that to Serge, who widened his eyes and shook his head.  Exeter nodded quickly and bit back whatever he was going to say.  "Ah, absolutely not!  I apologize most sincerely for my immature remarks, my good friend Kid!"

"Ah, shut yer piehole."  Kid pushed her plate away, flashing a more positive look to Serge.  "Well, mate, if you're just about done eatin'…"

Serge patted his stomach.  "I'm good to go until tonight."

"Great!"  Kid bounced up from her seat, glancing to both men.  "Then let's get to headin' out!  We've gotta be in Termina by at least nightfall-"  

"Hey, wait a sec, I haven't eaten yet!" Exeter said piteously.  "I at least want one little bite to eat…"

Kid slapped her forehead.  "Oi!  I dun wanna trouble our hostess, though…"

"That's all right," Leena said, standing up.  "I can make as much food as you want.  Because I'm coming with you."

That got their attention.  Leena felt a touch of warmth on her cheeks- being silent for so long, that she had spoken probably surprised them as much as her announcement had.  Serge in particular was utterly agape.  "You…what?  N-no, wait, you can't just-"

"Yes, I can!" Leena said.  "You three just concocted a big adventure right in front of me- you can't possibly expect me to stay in this little dump while you go out to _Termina_ of all places, all alone!  I'd worry myself to death.  I _would_.  C-come on, quit looking like you're about to laugh, okay?  I'm serious!"

Kid smiled.  "Well, ya do know how to cook- and I'm bloody tired of havin' to bash my food open with a rock."

"Exactly!  I can cook for you guys, and- and I can fight, too.  I'm great with water and ice and can make do with any weapon I have!  Um, so long as it weighs less than a sword…"  Leena gulped.  "Really, I'll pull my own weight, but I want to see you to Termina, just to make sure you're safe…"

_Mom will kill me.  She will cover me in meat tenderizer and invite over a few lion sharks for dinner.  But, she can't do that if I'm not here, can she?  No!  And when I come back she'll have forgotten all about it.  Or not, and she'll double the dose of meat tenderizer.  But it's a risk I've got to take!_

"Hmm…it would be nice to have you along for the ride, I guess," Exeter said, "but, after Termina, you'll have to go right back to Arni.  I don't think any three of us are going to be ignored by the Dragoons for very long-"

"They won't stop me."  Leena cleared her throat and said in her best accent, "I'm just a simple country gal, folks.  They'd hardly notice lil' old me."

"Hey, that's great!" Exeter said.  "Now if we can only get you some country clothes- I'm thinking low cutoffs and a tight, sliced-up yellow tee-shirt- oh, no."

Kid gave him a very hard kick under the table.  Exeter's face looked like that of a blowfish for the next few seconds before he composed himself.  "Hoo-hoo, _wow_, that was painful.  Are you wearing cleats or sneakers, babe?"

Ignoring him, Leena stood up, grabbing all three plates and piling them in her arms.  "I am going to come with you- I am!  And I've got to get started right away!  You'll need blankets and pans and pots and food and water and I think my mom's got some old talismans or something we could use!"

"Wai- wait!" Serge said.  "Settle down for a moment, we can't possibly take-"

"Yes, you can," Leena said, and meant it.  _You can and you will.  I'll be cursed if you leave me behind again, if you vanish forever and I don't follow.  I had that chance, now I have it again, and this whole thing is just way over my head but I have you right in front of me and you WILL take me with you!_

Leena bit her lip.  "You can.  You can and you will.  Look, I really don't have the time to discuss this- I'm going to go tell my mom I'm going and then we'll just be on our way.  I'll be back in a bit!"

She turned and rushed for the door of the hut.  Serge called after her, but she kept running, until she was across the threshold and into the sunlight.  Still she ran, until she was sure the echo of his voice had faded into the prating of the youths in the village.  The sun hurt her eyes, so she kept her face down and pointed at the ground.  Maybe it would be easier to hide the twitching in her cheeks this way.

Her house was just next to Exeter's…to Serge's.  She'd get her things, and then they'd be on their way.  Just to Termina and back.

_Right.  Mom will ground me, and I'll go anyway, just to Termina and back.  I get the feeling 'Termina and back' kind of involves a rather lengthy detour…_

If she weren't running, Leena would have sighed.  She veered on her home, and wondered again why it was so strange and wonderful to follow the one person who had given her the deepest scar of all.

---

"Sorry, but I'm going.  I just can't let them go by themselves."

"Put the bag down- Leena, put the bag down and listen to me!"

Serge listened to the argument going on inside, his head hanging lower with each new word.  He sat at the base of the stairs leading up to Leena's small hut, his bandana tugged over his forehead and his broken Swallow resting over one shoulder.  Exeter paced about across the square from him, doing his best to make small talk with the villagers- probably to distract them from all the shouting.  Kid was walking somewhere off to his side.  Neither looked too pleased about what was going on inside Leena's home.

_Seems like they've been at this for most of the day.  I don't remember her mom ever being this angry…I thought she had a sister, too- Una._  Something he'd have to ask her about.  Maybe when she wasn't dealing with a mother loud enough to wake the gods.

Leena was shouting back now.  Serge made to turn his head, but stopped halfway.  On the off chance one of the villagers looked at him, he didn't want to appear involved or interested.  He felt the less they knew about him now, the better.  The last thing Arni needed was a ghost on its hands.

"Leena, put the bag down, now-"

"No.  Mom, back off, go feed the cat or something."

"Put it down-"

"Let go of it!"

"Put it down!"

He tapped the Swallow against his shoulder a few times, thinking of a way to distract himself.  He settled on looking around, breathing that fragrant sea air and studying the day.  The sky was cloudless, still tinged deeply without the noon sun to brighten it.  The wind was gentle and didn't press his bangs into his eyes.  The air was temperate and he could hear gulls cawing amidst the crashing of the waves.  Arni itself went about its business, with all the villagers collecting in the marketplaces around the corner.  Considering the present circumstances, it was good that few people were around today.

"Gods, Mom, stop it!  This is embarrassing!"

"Put it down!"

So much for distracting himself.  Serge tugged his bandana down further.  _It'd be so much easier if she just said 'Serge, don't worry about it, I don't hate you and I'm just worried about you and that's why I'm going with you.'_  

He dug the Swallow tip into the ground, carving an L in the sand.  _Or maybe just the 'I don't hate you' bit…_

His seat creased- someone was sitting next to him.  He looked over and saw flashing purple spots as the morning light caught Kid's hair.  The wild girl scooted over to him with a helpless smile, and pulled up a knee to her chest.  "Ya'd think they were holdin' a gun or somethin'," she said.

He smiled back.  "Wouldn't surprise me."

Kid's smile turned a little more positive.  She reached behind her head and gave her braid a tug, looking out to the whole of the village.  "This ain't a bad place, I gotta say.  Somewhere a girl like me could stay for a long time, all nice and cozy-like." 

"It's a great place- it might seem quaint, I guess, but it doesn't make you ashamed to say it's your home."  Serge tugged his bandana up some, looking out to the sea- the sparkling, mystifying sea- with grateful eyes.  "Heh- that's one thing that hasn't changed about this world.  I still love it here.  I still smell the sea."  He shook his head.  "Even after seventeen years, I still haven't gotten used to that smell.  It's always new whenever I wake up, and whenever I go to sleep."

"Hehe!  This is great, I just gotta mention Arni to get ya talkin'," Kid said, grinning.

Serge snickered.  "Come on, I talk a lot."

"Well, you shut right up around me!  I'd wager it's 'coz o' my womanly charms, but now I dunno…"  Kid nudged him playfully.  "So, you're seventeen, eh?"

He nodded.  "Seventeen.  Eighteen next couple of months, I think."

She thumbed her chest.  "Sweet sixteen!  Only a couple months away from seventeen, meself."  Kid put her arms behind her head and started fixing her hair.  "Ah, it sucks t'be so young, eh?"

_My pants are telling me yes and no._  "Yeah, but at least I can still get up in the morning," Serge said, tugging his bandana down a little more (and hard).  "It'll make the hike a lot easier, too…"

Kid nodded.  "Means we gotta ask for your swordmate's permission to get into the concert at Termina, too."

He blinked.  "Swordmate?  Concert?  Uh, which do I ask about first?"

"Oi!  Don't poke fun at my accent!" she said, laughing.  "Ah, concert- there's a concert in Termina, didn't ya hear?"

"Um…see, that's the thing."  Serge paused at a particularly loud shriek from inside the house.  "In my world, Termina's been overrun by the Porre.  Viper being kind of dead and all."

"Oh, that's right…"  Kid smiled understandingly and took an oratorical pose.  "Well!  In _this_ world, Termina is my home away from home away from home.  It's where t'go if you want good food, good beds, good Elements, good smithin', good friends, and…"  She grinned.  "Good partyin'.  Every year they got this thing called the Viper Festival or what have ya- smashin' stuff!  That's when ya practically get paid to eat, dance, and eat some more."

Serge caught only half of that thanks to the shouting, but he got the gist of it.  "Sounds like one hell of a shindig."

He realized what he'd said and her eyes brightened.  Kid squealed and gave him a mock punch to the jaw.  "Aha!  Now I'm goin' to yer head!  Hee hee.  So, yeah, it's one _hell_ of a _shindig_."

When he was done snickering, Serge spoke again.  "Closest thing I've ever seen to that is when Ex brings in his Magical Dreamers tapes and plays them in the beer hall."

"Ooh!  The Magical Dreamers are in your world, too!?"  Kid clasped her hands together and made a melting sigh.  "Oh, that Nikki…he's the dreamiest guy I know…I wanna get close to him just so he can breathe the same air I do…I kiss the bloomin' grass he walks over…I would eat outta his garbage just for some o' that indirect kiss goodness…"

She paused, staring off into space with sparkling eyes, then broke into a monkey grin.  "Did I fool ya?"

Serge's head fell to his knees, and he shook with laughter.  "Ah, almost!"

"Hehehe!"  Kid put her elbow on his bent back and leaned her chin on her palm, giggling.  "Nah, I like 'em fine, but no guy that dresses in spandex pants and wears makeup'll do that fer me!  I tell ya, though, they play some damn bloody good stuff.  'Lime Light', 'Get A Lot Done In Dreams', 'Sergeant Indy's Shadow Hearts Club', 'Milkin' the Love'…anyway!  They get together for the Viper Festival too, play for half the night and pump out autographs the other half.  Big rave whenever they play, but ya kinda have to be eighteen or over to dance around the place- s'why we might need your swordmate's permission, eh?"

"There's that word again," Serge said, then looked up to her.  "So, uh, does that Miki girl still jiggle- jig, jig, I meant jig-"

"Agh, now your swordmate's goin' to your head!"  Kid drove her elbow into a ticklish spot on his back.  He squirmed and almost squealed, then she tackled him.  "Raaah!  Ain't no stairs for you to run down this time!"

Serge found himself pinned by his arms.  He couldn't resist a grin.  "You know, if Ex- aack- if Ex catches us like this…!"

She shook her head.  "Don't you gimme none o' that, mate!  I said not to try any funny stuff…just 'cause I'm cute and all."

"Funny stuff?"  He feigned an innocent look.  "Would I do something like that?"

His grin faded with hers, though not for a worse expression.  Now she smiled down at him, but her eyes had hooded, her pupils sparkling under the sudden shade, in a look that he associated only with pain.  The paint on her cheeks seemed out of place.  Her back had arched in just a little, enough for her necklace to come to a wavering rest against her collarbone.  In looking at her, in that pose, in that moment, he felt she was…well, doing _something_, but he couldn't place his finger on it.  He expected her to be hiding pain at first, but the smile, the look she gave him had nothing to do with it.  

_…you know, I don't think she's wearing a bra._

It took a moment for him to feel guilty about that, but Serge hadn't thought of it out of hormones.  He noticed it, that was all- something that also seemed to reflect on him, like the shadows around her eyes.  It was an innocent fact, but there was something wrong about it.  It was something he could sense, as surely as he could sense the heat of the sun high above.

_…what, she's not wearing a bra, so there's some sort of supernatural horror behind that?  Man, I'm just out of it today._

"Nah, you wouldn't," Kid said, bringing him back to his senses with a gentle tone.  She eased her grip and pulled him up.  "You're a good mate, mate.  I know that already…"

"Hah…thanks," Serge said, honestly.  "I know you're a good person, too.  Could tell that the moment I saw you- uh, being as you saved my life, and gave me first aid, and dragged my sorry butt back here..."

Kid grinned.  "Now it's back to you on the brain.  Good!"  She leaned back on her arms and crossed her legs, breathing in the air.  "Mm, you know that sea air you were talkin' about?  I think I'm gettin' to know what you meant…"

Serge smiled, brushing some dust off of his fallen Swallow.  "Yeah.  Only in Arni do you get this kind of smell…"  He propped up his weapon and leaned on it- stopped.  "Hey…do you hear that?"

"Huh?"  Kid paused, listening closely.  "What, the waves?  The gulls?"

"No, no," Serge said, standing up.  "The shouting inside, it stopped-"

The screen door of the hut swung open, cutting him off.  Serge helped Kid to her feet, and when he looked up again, there was Leena.  She toted a blue supply bag in one hand, and a spatula in the other.  Her cheeks were flushed red, a pouty expression on a face dampened by either sweat or tears.  She sniffled as she descended the stairs, but flashed a smile to both Serge and Kid as she reached them.  

"Sorry for the wait," Leena said.  "Well then.  Ready to go?" 

He thought about apologizing, but she was clearly not up to talking about what had happened.  Instead, Serge shrugged and smiled back.  "Yeah, we're ready.  We'll just get Exeter and then we're gone."

"Great!"  She reached out the hand that held her bag, and flashed another painfully forced smile.  "Sorry, but I just can't carry all of it."

Serge looked to the dainty hand that held that bag, and gratefully reached out to take it.  "Sure, sure, that's no prob-"

He cut off as he took the bag, sagging under the weight.  "-lem if you want _hernias_!  What've you got in this thing?"

"The Essentials."  Leena winked knowingly at the both of them.  "I know it's a bit heavy, but it'll get lighter as we go along.  See the logic?  A journey is all about logic and planning!"  She stepped past Serge, patting his shoulder gratefully, and walked towards the square.  "Now, let's go find our fearless leader!  Exeter!  Exeter, we're ready!"

"Ready to have a frickin' CurePlus on my back," Serge grunted. 

Kid giggled.  "Well, you are the only other guy…"

With great difficulty, Serge swiveled the bag over his shoulder, bracing himself with the Swallow.  "Argh!  I don't care how heavy Ex's shampoo bag is, this is ridiculous…"

"Ahh, we'll empty it out pretty quick," Kid said, walking along.  "It's only a few hours' march to Fossil Valley."

"Few?  Few!?  Why isn't it _couple_?"

She laughed.  "'Cause you'll be slowin' us down, that's why!"

"Oh, geez…"  Serge hobbled after her, grimacing with each step.  "You said you had buddies at Fossil Valley, right?  I hope they have good backs…"

"No worries, they'll help us for sure," Kid said, slowing to step alongside him.  "I know 'em pretty well.  They're real good mates!  Some o' the best me and my bunch got."

"Your bunch?"

"Oh, yeah…just a bunch of mates I got back in Termina."  Kid winked.  "You could say I met 'em durin' one of those raves…"

"Heh!  Well, I'm sure I'll be thrilled to meet them," Serge said.  "Ah, whew, already I can't wait for Termina.  Good food, good beds…"

"Mm-hmm…good Elements, good smithin'…"

"Good friends, and…"

Both of them pumped their fists.  "Good partyin'!  Whoo!"

They heard Exeter from across the square.  "Hey!  Step up the pace, s'go s'go s'go!  Uh, Serge, you can just linger back there- Kid!  I want you to run as fast as you can!  Pump those legs-"

Serge had occasionally wondered what a ladle cracking against a skull would sound like.  One more thing that wasn't strange about this world.  He chuckled with Kid, and stepped up the pace anyway.  He didn't look back at Arni as he left it.  He hadn't done that in his world, and there was no reason to do it here.  

Though he did take one last smell of that ever-renewing sea.  

---

"Hff…hff…hrrah!  One, two…three!"

The thrusts of a rapier and the braying of a dragoon mount- both perfect for antagonizing an already raging headache.  Karsh beat the dirt off his lavender-hided steed with a wet towel, his mood growing fouler and fouler with each slap.  The animal would hardly feel the blows, thanks to its thick hide, but the impact caused Karsh's temples grief to no end.  Add in the fatigue from chasing the damn beast all night and the hot jungle air that had blasted him and his squad all throughout, and one wound up with a thoroughly irritated Dragoon Deva.

The environment was calming, at least- the humid airs of the island's southern regions were gone, and presently, Karsh and his group rested in a more comfortable spot.  They were in a small grove, with Fossil Valley and its cool airs blowing in from the northwest, and the refreshing mists of the Divine Dragon Lake washing over them from the east.  It felt closer to headquarters here- closer to home.  Though Karsh liked it more when it was old man Efli taking care of these things.

Another thrust.  Karsh quit beating the animal and turned with an annoyed glare.  "Can't you do that someplace else?"

He had caught Sindai in the middle of a riposte.  The Dragoon swordsman stopped, and reared himself up to full height.  His face belied his anger, but Karsh could tell it wasn't directed to him.  "Sorry, sir.  I didn't want to disturb Lieutenant Mintaka's rest- and the Shaker Brothers are practicing, themselves.  Sir."

"At ease.  Speak frankly," Karsh said, rubbing his head.  "I got a headache so big I can't put up with any discipline right now."

Sindai did not relax.  The red-haired Dragoon brought up the spare rapier he had carried with his own steed, and tightened his grip on it.  "I'm out of practice.  It's been too long since I faced a naked blade.  It was just underestimation."

Karsh smiled humorlessly.  "Sure, those work.  How about 'he was just better than me'?"  He matched Sindai's glare.  "Sharpen that brain of yours before you get back to practicing.  It wasn't about how much practice you've had, Sindai- it's about that guy being out of your league."

Sindai set his jaw, looking down at the bandage wrapped around his torso, under the chain mail.  "Out of my league…no.  I had him."

"You had him against a cliff, weakened from your element, cut up on his arms, and you still dropped the ball."  Karsh shook his head, and regretted it.  "There ain't no shame in losing to a better fighter.  Not knowing when to quit, though- that's much worse."

"Surrender?  To that male ditz?"  Sindai spat.  "The bloody hell I will.  A mistake, that's all it was…"  He brought up the rapier and stared into the quivering blade.  "That man, Exeter…next time, I'll behead him myself."

_Yeah, swear an oath of chastity next.  You'll keep it just as long._

Karsh sighed and leaned against his steed.  The previous night had not been kind to him- that damn monk had led them halfway across the whole bloody island looking for their rides.  With Mintaka unconscious and the other three badly injured, Karsh had been left with the task of hauling each one along after the stranger.  They'd finally caught up with the mounts just a couple hours earlier, by the Divine Dragon Lake- sans saddles.  _That snide piece of shit._

Karsh tapped a pulsing temple, trying to remind himself of where they stood.  Just half a mile from Fossil Valley, and from there on in it would be cake getting back to Viper Manor.  Solt and Peppor were fully recovered and caring for their steeds, as well as Mintaka.  The cobalt-haired lieutenant was still resting, but at least Sindai was feeling better.  Well, feeling cockier, anyway.  

"Well, if you want to, ah, 'honor' that vow of yours, you better quit stabbing at things that can't stab back," Karsh said.  "After we give our report, take that Trahn guy out for a couple rounds.  And no, not those rounds- shit, _damn_ this thing…"  He clutched at his head and threw the cloth down in frustration.  "Gah…talkin' makes my headache worse.  Don't make me talk so much again."

"Whatever you say," Sindai said, sheathing his rapier.  "But, tell me this one thing…"

"Yeah?"

"Do you ever spar?"

Karsh snorted.  "Hell no.  I'm a Deva, kid.  My days of smackin' sticks with rookies are long gone."

Sindai raised a brow.  "So, when you get to be a Deva, you stop worrying about your skill…huh."

"What do you mean, 'huh'?"

"Nothing, nothing…"  Sindai wiped sweat from under his auburn locks.  "Just…I was wondering why that ghost boy was giving you so much trouble."

Karsh's gaze turned cold.  "If you're calling me out of shape-"

"Oh, no, perish the thought," Sindai said.  "I'm not calling you anything at all.   I just wish you'd keep your skills sharp is all.  That Serge person should have been cake for you-"

_That's it._  Karsh reached over the Dragoon mount and grabbed his sheathed axe.  He hefted it up and took some pleasure in seeing Sindai flinch, but instead of brandishing it, he slung it over his shoulder.  "I've got a headache the size of the Sky Dragon's Holy Turd and I'm getting lectured by a _lieutenant_ about how _I_ ought to fight?"  He snorted hot air, walking forward.  "Hell with this shit.  I'm gonna wash up.  You damn well better be ready to move out when I get back."

Whatever Sindai's response was, Karsh didn't much care.  He walked along the line of trees that led to the Pond, toting his axe all the while.  He needed this- he needed to feel that cold water run down his face, get rid of the feverish heat, get rid of the damn headache.  He'd chased Ghost Boy and Brother Asshole all over the southwestern part of the island, all the while leading a squad full of demoralized and injured whiners.  He really needed some 'him' time right now.

The Pond was easy to find, but Sindai's words proved difficult to escape.  Karsh came to the edge of the huge lake (why did they call the damn thing a _pond_?) and found himself between a patch of jungle to the north and a clearing to the south.  The place might as well have been a valley- the lieutenant's words echoed all around him.

"'Keep your skills sharp, Karsh,'" Karsh muttered.  "'Ghost Boy was giving you so much trouble, Karsh.  Not like me, I only got my damn pussy poker snapped in two.'  Little weasel…"  He walked towards the water's edge, grumbling as he moved to set the axe down.  It was still a little chipped, but he'd repaired most of it.  His father had taught him to fix up an axe while on the run, back when they were still living under one roof.  It was fit for combat now, but he'd probably have to pay his old man a visit to get it reinforced, sharpened…

Sharpened…

Karsh froze like that for a moment, bent over from lowering his axe.  He at last stood back to his full height, and looked down into the water's edge.  Clear and clean as always- no idiot would ever dare dump his junk in the Lake of the Dragon Gods.  But that wasn't his focus for the moment.  He looked at the reflection in the water, the dark and shaded image of himself in the morning light.  He knew as much as he saw in there- a strong, handsome man, forged of pure soldiery and skill with the axe.  That was Karsh, the Dragoon Deva, one of the four mightiest warriors in the army of General Viper.  The other three Devas were all that could compare to him- he was matched in strength only by titanic Zoah, matched in speed only by lightning Thine, matched in…well, in cursing, only by little Marcy.  And of course Viper himself, but he didn't count.  That was _it_, no matter what Sindai said.

_…no.  I'm lying._

Karsh found his mind going to work on his reflection.  His brilliant white, patterned robe faded into a tight, sleeveless black shirt and pine green pantaloons.  His hard body became lithe and far too skinny, and his deadly steel axe became a training hatchet.  His hair shortened but tied up into a high ponytail.  He was smaller, his skin lighter.  He was 17 again.  A kid.

Beside him was a man wearing the same kind of outfit, only the shirt was light brown and he was slightly taller.  He held a Dragoon longsword in one hand, his blonde hair cut short and his reddened face stretched into an easy grin.  The image did not end with him.  Next to him there was a short, slightly chubby kid who was simply clad, his hair a darker blonde and wild, so wild it had to be tied up with a white headband.  He had a wooden practice sword in one hand, and an incredibly fat Viper churro in the other.  He had the same look as the grinning man.

Still it did not end.  Beside those two boys was a young woman, maroon-eyed and beautiful.  She was dressed in a summer blue dress, and her hair matched it in color and hue…

_But it's the same color as mine now._  Karsh thought about reaching down and touching that imaginary reflection, but settled on bringing his hand up to his hair.  He touched a stray lavender lock, pulling it down just enough for him to look at it.  It was the exact same color.  No difference at all, save that hers was sleek, not wild like his, and longer, and lush, and soft even to the eyes.  Why had hers been blue, before that day…?

_…then again, who the bloody hell gets purple and blue hair, for godssakes?_

He chuckled, bringing those nonexistent images to a close.  No, the Devas and Viper- it did not end with them.  They were not the only ones who could match him.  One other had surpassed him, in both skill and dream, in both desire and stature.

Karsh let go of his hair, looking out across the Pond, towards another remarkable sight- the Divine Dragon Falls, massive waterfalls falling from the majestic but dark Dragonian Mountains in the distance.  The Falls were too far off for him to see a rainbow or mist, but he did hear their faint roar.  Hearing it, he wondered when it was that he came to a realization like this, and when he finally gave up.  When he realized…

_Realized that Sindai was on the ball.  I ain't kept my skills sharp for a while…me, twenty-six year old Dragoon Deva, toughest bastard in the whole bloody army, and I realized I wasn't the best…'cause one crew-cut son of Big Garai was already the best in everything…and I was just a fighter.  Zoah was strong, Thine was fast, Marcy was better with magic, Viper had my ass owned in leadership, my old man was better with an axe, hell, Glenn could chomp down more churros than me.  Me…just a fighter._

Karsh looked back into the water, and saw himself there, alone.  He knew when he'd realized that.  

It was when her hair stopped being blue.  

He closed his fists at his sides, breathing in deeply.  The water of the Pond rippled as a faint breeze passed through the area, gathering around Karsh.  A few leaves from the nearby trees were caught in that wind, floating down upon the surface of the water.  Karsh half-closed his eyes and cupped his hands together, focusing on that summoned wind.  Very rarely did he call upon the elements anymore, and he wanted to know how much he could use them on their own, without the aid of Talismans-

The awareness struck him.  Three people were in the woods, off to the side, and quickly approaching.

Karsh did not allow the wind to stop- it was, after all, telling him where they were.  Elements were all-encompassing, and wind especially.  _Heh.  Better stop using 'Green' as an insult- best damn element there is._  He knew his visitors wouldn't be Dragoons, in any case; he was too far from Fossil Valley, his squad wouldn't follow him out here, and he doubted Zoah, Thine, and Marcy were stopping by for a picnic.  Perhaps his little monk friend had come back with a few friends.

Sindai had said he needed to polish up his skills.  To lose to a little boy like Junior, Karsh had to be way out of shape.  No more.

Karsh pressed his thumbs and index fingers together, and joined the middle knuckles of his other fingers together.  The wind was starting to pick up a speed and chill not fitting for the hot summer day.  He could sense his little fan club slowing down.  He allowed himself a tight smirk, almost lazily rolling his head back-

-and, as soon as he sighted the woodland, swung his arms around and threw the wind forward.

_A little off target, closing in- there-_

"Aero Saucer!"

He was rewarded with profane cries as the wind tore into the jungle, through the form of violent sylvan spirals.  They cut through tree trunks like his own axe, spraying bark and leaves over the group concealed within.  Karsh tightened his fingers instinctively, pouring as much of the element into the underbrush.  His stomach lifted and tightened- how long had it _been_ since he'd used a proper element?  Ages…

They came rushing out of the howling trees and into the clearing, and Karsh called off the wind.  Already pumped from his favorite 'spell', he dropped his arms to his sides and for the first time got a good look at the three.

_…kids._

All three of them were no older than Junior.  Karsh was disappointed to find his monk friend was not among them.  There were two men, one woman- or two schoolboys and a she-brat.  The two men were dressed in similar attire, wearing chain vests and loose pants, dark-tinted.  Not the best attire to go around walking in the jungle, and based on their flushed faces, Karsh wasn't sure whether the cool wind he'd sent them had been a curse or a blessing.  One was taller than the other, with short black hair and dark skin, a green stripe painted over one cheek.  The other was lighter-toned and had his blonde hair spiked in the front with a ponytail in the back, and across his neck and forearms were light blue paint tattoos.  Both carried cheap swords, most likely stolen from Dragoons.

The girl was something else, though.  Though only seventeen or eighteen at the most, she looked like she had quite a bit of tone to her body- probably a runner, this one.  Her hair was brown, loose on either side but braided in the back.  She wore a dark green shirt two sizes too big for her, tied at the waist by a dark leather belt that held two long dirks, and tight pants.  Too tight, actually- Karsh was surprised she didn't creak when she walked.  Her face was angry, but under her eyes, he saw more paint- three red dots on the left, three yellow dots on the right.

Green, Blue, and Tight Pants.  Three-against-one.  Karsh shook his head, smiling.  What was that saying?  'Ask and ye shall receive?'

"So, what are you lot doing here, eh?" Karsh asked.  "Sneaking up on an unsuspecting man?  Or were you out here collecting fruit baskets for me?"

Pants didn't even dust herself off, already gripping her knives.  "You're Karsh, Dragoon Deva Wind, aren't you?"

Karsh tossed a look at the area of underbrush he'd just annihilated, then back to the girl.  "Gee, no.  I'm Marcy, nine-year-old potty mouth Deva, and I actually watered those trees to death."

Green and Blue looked to Pants, who seemed to be sweating a little harder now.  She showed no glare to Karsh, though, only a nervous grin.  "Fair enough, I guess that wasn't a smart thing to say…but it's not real smart to leave your back to the water in a fight, either.  Draw your ax-"

"Shut up.  I'm sick of your voice."  Karsh smirked, and reached one arm out to his side.  "Whoever you guys are, you caught me on the wrong damn day.  And once you've drawn your sword on me, all your damn bets are off."  

Wind seemed to explode between them all.  The three youths gasped, stepping back as tufts of wind erupted from all directions.  Karsh stood totally erect, however, his smirk widening into a grin as the gales coursed over his body and sent his hair into a wild frenzy.  The shock on their faces sat very, very well with him as the wind _hurled_ his axe from the ground, and into his outstretched right palm.  Karsh closed his hand around the axe, then calmed the wind with but a glimmer of concentration.  

_These brats want to tangle with a Deva?  They'll do so on a Deva's turf.  Hope I ain't too rusty…_  Karsh whipped his axe back over his left shoulder, then forward in a practice slash.  A tremendous tuft of wind tore through the path of the blade, and sent even more dust over his gaping opponents.  Karsh grinned.  _Well, I should've been able to blow them off their feet with just that, but I still got it…_

"Refresh my memory, guys," Karsh said.  He shifted to a sideways stance from his left, stretching his left arm out towards them.  He brought the axe forward to a horizontal level, its double blades at a vertical angle, the entire weapon paralleling his outstretched left arm.  It resembled a thrusting stance, though Karsh was sure the Painted Brats had no idea how an axe could stab them.  

But they also didn't know he'd killed dozens of men with this same move. 

He moved in one swift instant.  The bank of the Pond sprayed water high into the air as Karsh kicked off, his speed aided by the summoned gales.  His eyes narrowed to sight each of them- Green was in front and to the right, Blue behind him to the left, and at the very back was the girl.  Like shooting fish in a barrel, almost- though he supposed at least one of them would provide some mediocre challenge.  It was, of course, wrong to underestimate one's enemy.

_Even one that wears only a chain vest as armor._

Karsh had already halved the distance between them in his lunge, and closed in on Green first.  As the dark man brought up his sword, Karsh powered his arm forward, twisting the axe in his grip for a swift thrust.  Green was obviously confused, and even as he brought his sword up, the wind caused him to lose all coordination.  Karsh's axe whipped forward to the blade- but kept twisting, and curved into a quick spiral as Karsh's body speared by Green's side.  The double blade of the axe rotated perfectly, and the edge of one of the blades slid along the unprotected arm of the dark man.

A brief second, and then Green screamed as blood splashed from his left wrist.

Karsh did not slow down, curving in his path to the next target.  The girl had made the stupid mistake of not drawing her dirks yet, but Blue was quicker than she, apparently- he'd leapt completely into her path, bringing his sword up in a defensive stance.  That was more like it.  Karsh drove his axe forward, the top of the metal shaft slamming full-force into the drawn sword.  Blue grunted and cried out in pain as the hilt of his weapon was driven against his sternum.  Had the blow been any stronger, he would have been killed instantly.  Karsh skidded to a halt, grunting- perhaps he still had a little rust in the field…

Green was still howling in pain, trying to stop the flow of blood from the slit in his wrist.  The girl looked torn between which ally to help, and Blue was still struggling against the lock of Karsh's axe.  Karsh smirked.  Rust he had, but he was in perfect control.  

As the girl rushed towards Green, Karsh _really_ started to smirk, and turned it on Blue.

He stepped back, and then stabbed forward again.  His axe drove viciously into the blade, and Blue gasped in pain once more.  Karsh parted, spun clockwise, and whipped his arm around effortlessly for a powerful horizontal slash to the midsection.  As he predicted, Blue came up to block, and grunted again, a rewarding flash of white beneath the flesh of his wrist.  Karsh followed through with the cut, milking the pressure for all its worth.  Blue dug his feet into the ground, pushing back against the axe, but his wrist was already strained.

Karsh parted blades again, and Blue staggered, overbalanced for just that one moment.  Karsh flexed his arm, feeling good as the blood rushed through his muscles, but decided to give it a break.  He lifted his right leg, sweeping it up from the side in a powerful middle kick, and drove the toe of his boot into the wrist of Blue's sword arm.  He felt the muscle pulverize, and then Blue's sword was up in the air, tossed aside.  Blue clutched at his wrist, gaping at Karsh with pain and horror.  Karsh _loved_ it.

"Heh!  Didn't expect me to be a pushover, did you?"  Karsh stepped forward and roughly drove his left elbow in, swift and hard.  It slammed into Blue's jaw and popped it back, winning another pain-stricken grunt from the blonde man.  He toppled to the ground, rolling onto his stomach, and Karsh stepped after him, shaking his head.  "Too bad for you, man.  Good try, though.  See you in hell."  He whipped his axe back over his shoulder- 

-and blocked the edge of what would have been a fatal slash from Green.

Karsh could just imagine the dumbstruck look on the other man's face.  He himself hadn't expected the man to recover so quickly, but then, that girl did look like she had enough brains to use a curative element.  No matter.  Karsh arched his back and twisted under the axe, keeping it locked with the sword, and turned on Green.  The dark man hugged his wounded wrist to his side, his blue eyes wide with pain and shock.  Karsh took advantage of Green's unstable state, and jerked the axe from the block, bringing it down and to his right- and then across in a low horizontal slash.

"Nngh!"  Green clutched his stomach as the chain vest broke, blood dripping from a light wound over his midsection.  He stepped back, and out of the corner of his eye, Karsh saw the girl swooping around to attack from the side.  A useless effort- with those short blades, she'd never reach him in time.  Karsh kept his focus on the wounded Green.  He twisted the axe back in his right arm, and stabbed it forward, the top points of its blades making for Green's sword.  Though wounded, Green was able to move his blade up to block it, and his sword straightened vertically to block the axe.

A vertical block.  This was almost too easy.

Karsh suddenly jerked his axe, spinning the blades to slam the top flats of his axe on either side of the sword.  The power of the spin was enough to knock the blade cleanly out of Green's unhurt hand, sending it flipping tip over pommel into the air.  Karsh heard the girl's rapid footsteps coming up from the side, and then turned to his left and spun.  His steps carried him to the side and around, putting further distance between him and the girl in the matter of a second.  The wind picked up again, Karsh's spin took him to face Green, who made to bolt for his sword-  

-and Karsh's baseball slash caught him at the neck.  

The wind, wild and swift, carried the blood farther than it normally would have sprayed.  Karsh had hoped for a clean and painless kill, but it seemed that at most he had only come through with the painlessness.  Green's decapitated body fell to the ground, and Karsh watched through hooded eyes as the girl came to a standstill.  Her face was steadily growing pale, her eyes wide and glistening as they took in the sight before her- the very picture of shock.  

Karsh looked at his axe, at the one blade that was glimmering and clean and the other blade that was painted in red.  He saw his reflection in the clear side, saw his forehead and right cheek peppered with blood.  Long ago, he had considered that a baptism, back when the battleground had not been the jungle, but the sea.  Bodies had sunk to the bottom of the ocean instead of falling to the grass, and blood had turned the waters deep, dark purple.  Karsh half-hooded his eyes, wondering if that had been so long ago…wondering why it didn't feel the same in killing this man.

He'd killed innocents before.  They bled just like the ones that deserved it.  Karsh knew the rules- his world was a world of brutality, and once you drew your weapon, you entered that world.  You'd named your enemy, and you made no promises about living or dying.  You killed him?  Great.  You came out short a head?  Tough shit.

_But it doesn't feel right.  It doesn't feel wrong, but it doesn't feel right, either…I remember getting a high off killing blockheads like this guy, and yet now…_

"You…you…"

Karsh looked up, but the girl had not moved.  Instead, it was Blue.  He had recovered his sword, now held in his left hand.  His cheeks were bright red and his eyes were enraged, in stark contrast to the girl's quiet shock.  Karsh idly wondered how it was that they could see the same thing, yet be affected in such different ways.  He was willing to bet Blue there _had_ seen death before, just never one of his friends- the girl, though… 

"You murdering bastard!" Blue shouted, rushing at Karsh.  He looked pissed- intimidating, but unwise.  Giving in to emotion was a good way to get yourself killed on a battlefield.

_But…_

Karsh bit his lower lip, and leaned down to pick up Green's sword.  He snatched it from the bloody grass, and came up to face the oncoming Blue.  Blue had clapped both hands to his sword handle, fuming with rage and red at the face.  He powered down his sword in a sweeping cut, aimed to cleave Karsh from shoulder to hip.  Karsh bent his knees and twisted his upper body towards his left, bringing his left arm- and the sword- up above his head, just as Blue's sword slashed down.  The swords locked in midair, and Blue's left arm bent at the elbow as his cut was blocked.

Then Karsh swung his axe in from the right, and felt his blade shudder as it hacked through bone, and then the pressure on the sword he held aloft was gone.  Blue howled in pain as his left forearm was cleaved at the middle, grabbing it for a moment and then stuffing the bloody stump under his other arm.  Karsh pivoted on his right heel, letting the swing take him around completely, and then stretched out his left arm.  A moment's concentration was all it took.  A gust of wind, more powerful than before, hammered Blue's upper body and sent him flying back a whole meter.  Karsh's hair had stopped fluttering in the gale before the crippled swordsman hit the ground.

Karsh breathed easily, starting to work up a sweat.  By all means and rights he should've been done with these three already.  Then again, there was nothing wrong with practicing slowly.

These three- that reminded him.  Karsh turned his head to the last standing member of the group.  The girl was shaking, but not in fear.  Her face betrayed no such emotion, simply white with shock and pained confusion.  Karsh remembered that look quite well, though he'd never seen it on a girl before.

_Just on a young boy, before he got a couple scars on his cheek._

Karsh slung his palmed sword over his shoulder, taking slow strides towards the girl.  "Well, little lady…guess that's that.  You get to go home now and tell your folks about how the Personality Brothers here got totaled by the guy on the cereal box," he said.  

She made no move, her eyes still wide and her young body still trembling.  He smiled a little, almost paternally, and took another step towards her.  "Come on, what's the matter?  You never seen somebody die before?  Never seen a macho punk scream in pain?  I bet you have…maybe a grandparent, or an old friend of the family."  He chuckled.  "Maybe a pet?"

That brought her out of it.  Her eyes squeezed shut, her knuckles white around the hilts of her dirks.  "…pets?" she rasped.  "Hison…he wasn't a pet…"

"Hison, eh?"  Karsh took yet another step.  "Now that I think of it, that's a great name.  Thanks!  I'll ask Marcy to name her Komodo pup that."

The girl's eyes snapped open with a fierce intensity, but she did not glare or shout or scream.  Karsh stopped in his tracks, and felt a stirring inside of him.  That was a damn good look.  That was the look he _missed_.

"My friend's name was Hison," the girl said, flipping her long knives under her wrists in an attacking stance.  "He was a good man…undeserving of the death you just gave him.  I won't let you cheapen his name.  I'm…I'm going to kill you."

Karsh smiled again.  "Know what?  I think you could.  I think you might have what it takes.  But…you realize you may die trying."

The girl shook her head.  "I intend to walk away with your head.  That was my intention from the moment I saw-"

"Hah!  I take it back, you don't got what it takes."  Karsh tilted his head.  "What's your name, girl?  Go ahead and blab it out.  I won't go into a background check or anything- I don't waste time like that.  Really, I don't.  Dragoon's Honor."

Her face twisted into flushed anger.  She tore across the ground towards him, arching her upper body forward and crossing her arms behind her back.  "_Blaze Wolven Tide!_" 

Karsh crossed the sword with the haft of his axe, forming a cross guard in front of his body, and waited.  He wanted to see what she fought like.  Her dirks looked sharp, and their steel surfaces flashed across her wrists as she joined them behind her back. She was fast for what she was wearing, and before he knew it she was within striking distance of him.  Her upper body curved up, her arms snaking out from behind her back.  She had switched the dirks from hand to hand behind her back, and now lashed them forward in a pincer strike.

He reacted swiftly, and in less time than it took for him to blink, he whipped both axe and sword out to his sides.  The dirks hit them with a resounding clang, and the girl's face widened in desperate shock for one moment-

-and tightened as Karsh's foot drove into her jaw from below.  Her head snapped up, and she fell back with a hard thud to the ground.  Her head hit it first, the rest of her body sprawling even as she groaned, painfully, silently.  Her dirks had fallen out of her range, one flung out to either side of her.  She grimaced, struggling to roll over-

"Not so fast."

She looked up- and Karsh slammed his axe down on her neck.  Karsh trapped her in the arch of the axe, the tops of the axe's edges sinking into the ground as he drove it in, pressing his boot into the bottom arch of one blade to add extra weight.  It pinned the girl down by her neck, and she grunted as the heavy weapon pressed into her throat.  She coughed, bringing her hands up to grab at the weapon, but gasped again when she cut a palm on its dangerously sharp edges.

Karsh leaned on the upturned pommel of his axe, looking down at her with a smug smile.  She looked back at him with drained fury, her cheeks dampened with the blood clinging to the axe.  

"Blaze Wolven Tide, huh?"  He chuckled.  "The switching-dirks thing is ingenious, but you tightened your arms too much when you struck.  And you left your upper body way too open, for having such short-range weapons…"  He smirked.  "Guess you know what that means, eh?  You lose."

"Shut…up!  G…gah!  Damn you…"  The girl grimaced, taking blind swipes at his legs and trying to claw his flesh.  She kicked her legs up, aiming for less honorable targets.  Karsh wore his boots too high for her to do any damage, however, and he leaned from a side angle so as to be out of range of her kicks.  He didn't take kindly to writhing brats, though, so he pushed down a little more and began to choke her.  Her eyes shot open and she pushed against the axe, her cheeks turning red and then, after some moments, blue.  Karsh waited, and when he felt her pushing starting to slip, he eased off the pressure.  She wheezed.

Karsh wiped some of the caked blood from his brow.  "So.  Since I'm the winner, you ought to answer a few questions for me," he said.  "What's your name, missie?  Who sent you?  Why were you after me?  Why do you wear such tight pants and use such god-damn fool techniques?"

The girl panted weakly, but turned her head to the side, eyes sharp and defiant.  "…you know…my answer to that."

"Yeah, I can just imagine what fool catchphrase you'll come up with…"  Karsh ran his hand further up, through his hair.  "'I'd rather die than tell you', or 'you'll never get me to talk.'  Listen, missie, I _can_ get you to talk.  I got no interest in killing you- killing women just ain't my thing.  There are other ways of dragging information out of you, and, let's face it…the position you're in right now, I could have a real easy time using those 'alternative methods.'"

She stiffened, slowly looking up at him.  Her chest heaved more rapidly, and now Karsh saw fear enter her eyes.  He blinked, then realized what that look meant- and burst out laughing.

"Ho ho!  Wait- you think I'm talking about _that_?"  Karsh held his gut.  "Oh, girlie…you got me all wrong.  I may be a Deva, but I've got some morals.  Besides…you're way too young for my taste.  I'm twenty-six, you know."  

She calmed, but that didn't stop him from smirking.  He leaned down a little, and fixed her with a very cold stare.  "No, missie.  Believe it or not, there are worse things I can do to you than rape.  Back in the Porre invasion, I served as a field medic off and on.  I know every part of the human body.  I know what can make the body feel good, and I know how to give it pain that will shred the mind apart."  His eyes narrowed to dark slits.  "Don't screw with me, missie.  Tell me _now_."

"K-Kell!"

Blue's voice.  Karsh turned halfway, and saw the man had risen to his feet, his sword clutched in his bad right hand.  The smell of sweat and blood was all over him, and he looked twice as angry as he had before.  He shouted at them, his voice trembling in pain from his severed limb.  "K…Karsh!  Get…away…from her!"

Karsh looked back to the girl, chuckling.  "Kellios…so that's your name.  Well, now we're getting places.  Think you can get him to shout who the hell sent you if you squirm and squeal for him?"

"I said get away from her!"  Blue took a quivering step towards them, holding his blade out to the side.  "You haven't…beat me yet…"

Karsh looked back to Blue, sighing- then, as his eyes locked onto something, chuckled.  "Yeah, you're probably right."

The girl- Kellios- caught what Karsh had seen.  "N-NO!  Bax, watch ou-"

Bax went rigid, his expression fading into surprise, and then pained confusion, as the shining tip of a rapier appeared from his left breast, over his heart.  As blood gathered around it, his knees buckled, and he slid off the sword with a tired sigh.  He wavered on his knees for a moment, trying to turn his head up as Kellios made a helpless "oh" and gasped.  Bax could not raise his head, and finally fell forward onto his stomach, dying in a matter of seconds.

His blade now matching the color of his hair, Sindai glanced at Karsh and frowned.  "Maybe it's a good thing I felt like apologizing, sir?"

Karsh shook his head.  "Guess I can't count on them to bleed to death any more.  You're forgiven, by the way."

Sindai thought about that for a moment, then shook his head, wiping his rapier on the grass.  "I'm so relieved," he said.  "Now, sir, do I have to guess what's just happened here?"

"That's what the missie here is for," Karsh said, turning his attention back to Kellios.  "This kid's named Kellios, or something.  She's going to tell us who sent her and her two boyfriends after me, and why.  I don't think that's too much to ask after wasting so much time beating her little 'team.'"

Kellios still looked stunned, amazement clearly flooding through her.  Her face was a myriad of paint and blood and sweat.  As 'Bax' finally died, she appeared smaller, more tired and fatigued.  Again, it was a look Karsh knew very well- despair.  What she was feeling now was the loneliest and coldest feeling in the world, an absolute end to the adrenaline that had coursed through her just moments before.

_But hey, on the plus side, she's growing up now._

Sindai walked over to them, sheathing his rapier.  "Sounds reasonable.  What do you say, 'Miss Kellios'?"

"…I say…"  Kellios swallowed, closing her eyes.  "I say…just kill me."

Karsh exchanged a glance with Sindai.  He sighed, and clasped a palm to his forehead.  "Lieutenant?"

Sindai stood to attention.  "Sir?"

"How close is the squad to moving out?"

"Lieutenant Mintaka is feeling well enough to ride.  She and the Shaker Brothers are ready to move ahead to Fossil Valley.  Your Dragoon is also fully equipped."

Karsh nodded.  "All right.  We have time.  You see that dirk lying about three paces behind you?  Get it."

Sindai turned and walked over to retrieve it.  Kellios shuddered beneath Karsh's axe, and took a deep breath.  "With my own weapon…haha…"  She chuckled without mirth.  "Cutting off Hison's head…stabbing Bax through the heart…I guess you do have some honor in killing."

Karsh stared at her, but didn't answer.

"That's kind of why it bothered me," Kellios went on.  "I didn't want to attack you from behind, but that was the only way I'd stand a chance…guess I should've known it was foolish either way.  Now Bax and Hi are dead, and-"

"Here, sir."

Karsh looked over.  Sindai was holding out the dirk by its blade, hilt-first.  Karsh glanced at it, then down to Kellios.  She swallowed and closed her eyes.

"Lieutenant," Karsh said, "that knife is edged.  How good is the blade?"

Sindai looked the dirk over.  "In good condition, sir.  It's primarily designed for stabbing, though, and it's too small to decapitate swiftly."

"But it could cut through, say, a finger, couldn't it?"

Kellios went very still.

"…sir, it could, yes."

Karsh nodded.  "All right, Lieutenant.  Stretch out her right arm."

Sindai paused for a moment.  "I…ah.  Understood, sir."

"Wh- what!?  No- no, you can't!"  Kellios stared up at Karsh in horror, pushing in vain against the axe.  Her shirt stretched against her chest as Sindai stretched her arm out on the ground.  "Stop- stop it!  STOP!"

_Sorry, missie, but I got some morals._

"Please- don't do this!  Just kill me!  Just- choke me, stab- aah…aaahh!"

_Not many, but I do have them._

As Sindai sucked in and pressed down the dirk, Karsh looked into Kellios' stricken face, and took a slow breath.  "Let's begin."

He repeated his questions as a smooth, wet sawing sound joined with her agonized screams.  There were only two questions now, but as her screams grew louder and louder, Karsh repeated them over, and over, and over.


	9. Long Journey Ahead

At long last, it returns again! Personal stuff couldn't quite kill my devotion to this, ladies and gents. I think a nice 40-pager should make up at least a little for the gargantuan delay...? I hope so!

For future notice, I went back and altered a bit of the fight at Cape Howl- just a change in Serge's moves to something slightly more appropriate. I'll also be adding a scene to Chapter One, but for right now it's about time we moseyed along.

And so we join Serge the Arbiter on his journey, once again...

* * *

**Chapter VIII : Long Journey Ahead  
**_Fossil Valley, El Nido 02, 1020 A.D.  
_

"Peppor...you ever wonder why we gotta wear such heavily heavy armor when we fight?"

Peppor Shaker wondered about a lot of things. He usually wondered how to better hone his axe skills, how to hide his receding hairline, and also how he ever allowed himself to get this short and fat at age 30. Today was no different, but he had other musings to add on to the typical list- how Fossil Valley got this hot, how Sir Karsh could have left them behind on this humiliating sentry duty, and most of all-

"How," Peppor breathed, turning a twitching eye to his lanky partner Solt, "did I _ever_ come out of the same womb as you, you stupid, brainless, absurd, anorexic, badly-shaven, rat-faced, turnip-nosed, walnut-eyed, cone-headed ninety-eight-pound common and above all else redundant _fool_?"

Solt nearly jumped from the boulder he was leaning on as Peppor slammed the butt of his axe into the grassy earth to punctuate the last word. The tall, mustached stick-figure of a soldier raised his hands in a pacifying gesture, a dumb grin on his face. "Ahaha! Wow, Peppor, that was...pretty accurate." Solt reached over and patted his older brother on the shoulder. "There, there- you feel better now? I know how much it must suck, gettin' stuck with sentry duty after that humiliatingly humiliating, possibly career-ruining loss back at Cape Howl, but I understand! Get it allll off your chest."

GODS! Shoulda added more adjectives to the list...

"Ah, shaddap." Peppor shrugged his shoulder away, taking sentry position again by the boulder on the other side of the curving path. "You're the bonehead that got us landed here in the first place." He squinted his eyes and shriveled his face up in his best imitation of Solt. "'Oh, but Sir Karsh, if that monk guy is still on this swelteringly-sweltering part of the island-thingy, he might get away, oh noooo!' Amateur! He's just a stupid islander punk and you _still _want to waste time chasing him? Shakin' hell!"

Solt laughed, and Peppor thought he'd look real good without a couple of teeth. "Yeah, but I've been aching for some time off," Solt said. "Some real time off! Things have been so sordidly sordid at the manor, you know? Glad to have some sunshine and fresh air for once."

"Ugh...then why didn't you say 'oh, but Sir Karsh, that monk guy might be at Termina, hitting on Lisa Tightbra in the Elements shop'?" Peppor wiped beading sweat from his wrinkled brow. "Gods, I'm too old for this crap."

"Tightbra? I'm puzzledly puzzled by what you mean, Peppor."

"Ugh...never mind." Peppor often wondered if that "redundantly redundant" stuff was a speech impediment or if Solt just took a double dose of stupid pills every morning. Brushing back brown hair that was way too thin, he looked out across the slightly misty expanse of stone and flora that was Fossil Valley. He'd come here quite often when he was a kid, and no matter how many times he stepped into the valley, the sight of all these ancient fossils and the vast cliffs that led down far into the earth never failed to...well, to be honest, it bored the hell out of him. Dead things couldn't entertain you. Peppor was a mild history buff, though- at least he'd have liked to be, if it weren't for the sudden need for Acacia soldiers- and he was intrigued by the valley's history if nothing else. Apparently, 'Fossil Valley' had actually once been an outpost in an ancient kingdom of huge reptiles, whom it was said the Six Dragon Gods had once belonged to. To prove it, carved into the high walls of the valley were immense bones that Termina's archeologists had uncovered before, and just to the north of Peppor and Solt's current position was a huge skeleton that some more Dragoons- not in their unit- were working on preserving.

Today, though, the Valley was deserted, due to that big party going down in Termina with the gay guy and his band of hot girls with bodies hotter than an Inferno-type skill. Which meant that while pretty boy Karsh got to hang out around there, Peppor was stuck with his chopstick of a brother.

"...so I don't get how a 'tbra' could be 'tigh', whatever that means."

Peppor nearly bit off a chunk of his own lip. "I shakin' hate you so much, Solt."

Solt blinked, scratching his head even though he was wearing a helmet. "Hey, I'm merelyly merely stating the obv- oh, wait, is 'merelyly' a word?"

"No. It is not."

"Er...then I am simply stating the obviously obvious truth, Peppor!" Solt stamped his halberd into the ground to punctuate his point. "A 'tbra' cannot be 'tigh.' Therefore, the prettily pretty Lisa cannot be a Tightbra."

Peppor fumed. "You stupid, diseased son of a...well, wait, see, you don't know what a 'tbra' is, so you can't just say it can't be 'tigh', because you don't know what 'tigh' is either, so you're basically comparing a nonexistent noun to a nonexistent adjective, which really can't be _wrong_, and..." Peppor caught himself, and reached over to swat Solt hard on the back of his head. "Oh, shut your mouth!"

"Shut up" and Solt's subsequent yell echoed throughout the valley. Solt instinctively hopped back on his boulder seat, nursing his head. "Oogh...Peppor, I think I know why we have to wear the armor now..."

"...way too old for this crap." Peppor exhaled hard and leaned on his axe, since Solt had taken the only boulder seat at the entrance of the valley. The road was more rock than grass, but it was still smooth enough for him to stand without worry of tripping. He looked behind them, further up the valley path, to the rise that led to the "excavation area"- which was basically comprised of that already bare dragon skeleton. A lone guard stood watch over the ladder that led up, peering out across the valley for something Peppor couldn't guess. Probably just scouting, though he could've sworn he'd heard someone over there yell something about an exorcist (the place was supposedly haunted or something) earlier. Hell with it, they hadn't even bothered to greet the two of them when Karsh had come marching through earlier. It was all "oh, Sir Karsh, hello!" and "Sir Karsh, what an honor!"

"No respect," Peppor muttered, hunching down awkwardly in his armor. "No shakin' respect."

Solt perked up. "What's that, Peppor?"

"I said we get no shakin' respect." Peppor made a face as though he'd sucked a lemon. "Shakin' hell...Solt, you remember when we used to plan out how we'd put together that magic act?"

"Ohh, yes, I do!" Solt nodded vigorously, his beady eyes trying to turn wistful but instead just bulging out. "The Shaker Brother Axe and Halberd Show! The most famously famous magicians in El Nido! Hey, that rhymes!"

"Yuh-huh. Fantastic." Peppor reached over and rubbed his left foot, trying to massage it without taking off his boot. "What the hell ever happened to that? I could be doing that, or, I dunno, be a big historian fancy-ass scholar in Termina, or hang out in Guldove and check out all the shakin' chicks over there, and what am I?" He grimaced, finally giving up and yanking off his boot. "Lieutenant. I'm a thirty-year-old _lieutenant_."

"That's betteringly- uh, wait...yes, that's- that's better than being a twenty-nine-year-old second lieutenant," Solt said, laughing. "What're you going to do, though? Military pays such- such incredibly incredible money!"

"Yeah, but..." Peppor looked back over his shoulder at the lone guard and the ladder, hearing the sounds of pickaxes and digging tools clinking against rock. "You hear that?"

"Hear what? The cries of the gigantically giant Dodo in the nest over there?"

Peppor blinked, then realized that not too far from the rise, on an outcropping of rock some distance from the ladder, there _was_ a big white Dodo nesting, just out of plain sight. He groaned and shook his head. "No, damn it! The grunts over there, hackin' away at gods know what."

"Ohh, the Dragoon archeologists." Solt nodded. "Well, the Dodo's more interesting, but yes, I hear them."

"What do you mean the Dodo's more interesting? The Dodo's gonna be around forev..._shut up_." Peppor sighed through his teeth, kneading his soles- damn, he really wasn't a hiker. "Point is, that's bum work. Those bone-huggin' idiots don't get paid to come out here and investigate hauntings and all that crap...ow, oogh...those idiots don't get paid enough to feed their dogs, but they're still here, hacking away at the fossils...dodging rockslides...trying not to get impaled on dino bones...shoveling Dingo crap...all that stuff. And why is that?"

Solt thought long and hard on that one- Peppor expected that. Just as he was about to speak again, Solt's finger shot up. "Because they can't handle really real combat, so they're all _wussies_!"

"Wussies" echoed throughout the entire valley. Through a red haze, Peppor looked at the shiny blade of his steel axe, fought off a very wicked idea, and shook his head clear. Checking once to make sure that guard hadn't gotten the wrong idea, he turned back to his brother and glared. "Because they shakin' _want_ to do it, you little rat! And that's the shakin' point!"

Solt tilted his head, raised his brow, and twisted his lips all at once. "Er...what's the point, now?"

_You are such a rat. The gods should have given you a tail._ Peppor slid his boot back on, cursing lightly. "Shakin'...point is, they don't do it for the money. They do it because they wanna do it. And why ain't we like that? We're not Dragoons. We're not even grunts! We got our shakin' asses kicked by a Zenan skank, a kid in diapers, and an Exeter fanboy. We're not like Karsh, or even Glenn or Dario-"

"Dario." Solt said it at the same time as Peppor, and he slumped forward on the boulder, leaning on his halberd and looking as glum as he ever had. "Nah, Peppor...we aren't Dario. Nobody's Dario. S'why we're...that's why Acacia-"

"Yeah, yeah, just...just save it." Peppor thought the wind felt a little colder now. Or not colder, just...dreary, suddenly. He sighed, so many images flashing through his head in the space of a second- Porre's ships off the coast of Viper Manor, troops of bandaged and downcast Dragoons returning from the front lines, Sir Karsh pounding his desk in fury as Sergeant Trahn informed him of another turncoat. Those were past even memory, though, since Peppor saw them every day. The real thought that stuck out, the real memory that stuck out like a lion in a shark tank, was of an island of serrated red and purple rock...

We never brought back his body. Me and you, Solt, we- we both saw it, but we just couldn't...

Ah, hell. Wonder if that was when everything went wrong.

"...huh. Now that's weirdly weird."

Peppor looked over at Solt. "What? What's weird?"

Solt's eyes were squinted, his head stretching forward just slightly. "There's someone coming up the path...it looks like they've got a walking stick or something."

Peppor followed his gaze to a spot down the path, just where the immense eastern wall of the valley started to curve up. There was someone walking there, coming out of the jungles that led back towards the Divine Dragon Falls and the southern part of the island. Peppor could only make out black about the newcomer, which made him feel a little uncomfortable- black was his least favorite color. He couldn't tell the gender, either, but he _could_ tell that was no walking stick at their side.

"Katana..." Peppor pulled himself to his feet, his stomach going into freefall. "Holy- come on, Solt, get up! That might be that fanboy..."

"Fanboy? Fan...ohh, right, the fanboy!" Solt hopped up, switching his halberd to his left hand and trying hard to look like a competent soldier. "Just let him try to get by- wait wait wait, I thought he was blonde..."

"And I thought you were just dieting, but look what happened!" Peppor squeezed down hard on the haft of his axe, still watching the stranger who he now could place as a man. "Maybe they're all in disguise, and this guy took point...you got your Elements stocked, right?"

Solt tried to grin cockily, but it turned out crooked. "Oh, affirmatively affirmative, Peppor. I've got a little secret weapon if things go bad."

"Atta boy! Maybe there's hope for you yet." Peppor let the flat of his axe rest in his other hand, the caws of a flock of birds far above seeming to quiet as the man advanced. On closer inspection, he could make out a little more of the man- apart from the katana (which was actually too short to be the tachi that Exeter wannabe had, plus it had a white hilt and was carried slung over the elbow rather than at the waist) the man had some sort of maroon-hemmed cloak slung over his right shoulder. In this heat, Peppor wasn't surprised. The man had a black tunic, sleeveless, tucked into a Zenan-style maroon sash (Peppor was starting to pick up a pattern with these colors). Gray hakama trunks tucked into knee-high boots, a thin chain fitted in one side of the sash and draping loosely around his back, and a face that suggested the Gods had stepped out on the gender department when creating him.

...I've never seen anyone more shakin' boring in my life.

"Ooh, what a uniquely unique person!"

I'm a bald-assed liar.

Peppor shot Solt a look that could've burned through steel. "Shhh! Keep your voice down, you idiot! Don't give him more time to prepare if he's planning something..."

"Ohh, right..." Solt nodded, hefting up his long halberd in a quick, blatant combat stance. "Affirmatively affirmative, Peppor!"

Peppor's nostrils flared. Sighing, he took a step forward on the path, holding his head high. "Hey! HEY, you! Where do you think you're going?"

The man turned his head up, looking surprised and very sweaty. By now Peppor could see he was in his early twenties', of modest height and...well, Peppor didn't have much to say about his build. You really needed a solid or muscular build to cut it as a Dragoon, anyway, and this guy was way too thin. The kid slowed to a stop about six feet away, and broke into a smile.

"Morning there, most noble Dragoons!" he said, jovially. "It's a privilege. I'm here about your call? For the exorcism?"

Peppor thought back, thinking that sounded familiar. It clicked a moment later, and he nodded, slowly. "Ahh, yeah, the exorcism...that's what those guys were talking about." _Funny, I thought Karsh said that they got somebody to do it already..._

Solt blinked, clueless as the day he discovered the toilet. "Exorcism? What exorcism?"

"There's been a report of some hauntings around here, Sir Dragoon," the man said. He bowed once, deeply, and came up with a half-smile. "My name is...well, where I come from, people call me the Nanashi. I'm an affiliate of the legendary Greco."

Solt hopped up- more like _leapt_- and gaped. "Greco? _The_ Greco? The psychically psychic ex-wrestler? The Man of a Hundred Holds? The Accented Assassin? The same Greco who fought El Bombastico in a hot-oil Mythril Man match for the El Nido Heavyweight Championship?"

Peppor felt like he was going to taste his morning rations again. He tried to conceal his nausea as the man, the Nanashi, laughed and continued. "The very same, sir," he said. "Greco trained me in the arts of, ah, spirit-talking, you could call it. When I was nineteen, he pronounced me a full-fledged exorcist, and I've wandered the Zenan mainland for about five years, honing my skills in exorcisms. I have returned to this island to banish this poltergeist and then pay homage to my trainer-"

"Okay, okay, you've got a life story. Whoopie. Be proud." Peppor wiped sweat from his large forehead. "Look, Mister, ah, The Nanashi, I think we know an exorcist when we see one...and, uh, I don't know if you exorcists have uniforms or go ranting in tongues or whatever, but I'll take your word for it. However! We'll have to ask you a few questions..."

The Nanashi tilted his head. "By all means. What about?"

Before Peppor could start, Solt assumed an oratorical stance. "Ahem! Well, Sir Nanashi, you see, we're tracing this despicably despicable band of outlaws that are loose somewhere on the southern part of this island!"

"Outlaws, you say?" the Nanashi asked.

"Ohh, yes, you'd better believe it," Solt said, nodding adamantly. "We have to know if you might have seen them- we have very accurately accurate descriptions, though, so there's no problem whatsoever if you've seen them. They look like...well, their leader is...uh..."

He stopped, blinked, looked at Peppor. "What do they look like, again?"

No profanity under the sun could ever fit the intestine-devouring _fury_ that overwhelmed Peppor. He had to count to ten before answering, and even then he was wheezing through his teeth. "What my...'partner' is trying to say here," he said, "is that we're on the lookout for a bunch of criminals resisting arrest! They're led by this kid, got blue hair and looks like he's fresh out of puberty, has a bandana on and wears his trunks too high, black shirt and this vest like he's an amateur fisher-"

"-and is he with a blonde girl that's a red jacket, red skirt, and white bra away from indecent exposure?"

Peppor stopped at the stranger's words. "...Wait, wh- you've _seen_ them?"

The Nanashi nodded. "I spotted a group of four leaving the Arni area some time ago, perhaps an hour. Two of them matched your description- the blonde girl and the blue-haired boy, anyway. They seemed to be in a hurry. Had I known they were fugitives, I'd have tried to apprehend them for you."

Peppor almost swore- not only were they close by, they were coming. He shot a mouth-shutting look at Solt before replying. "Ahh...that's okay, uh, Mr. Nanashi- you shouldn't try to confront them," he said. "Leave 'em to us, the Dragoons. We'll take care of it."

"Yes! That would be prudently prudent," Solt said, clasping both hands to his halberd. "We wouldn't want to endanger the life of a nobly noble, law-abiding citizen like yourself! This chap is of the most uncommonly uncommon innate color- White!"

While Peppor felt another hair drop from his head, the Nanashi just smiled and touched his chin. "White, you say? _Omoshiroi_..." he said, in some tongue Peppor didn't recognize. Something about the word must have amused him, because the Nanashi laughed. "Well then. If this brigand is of the White element, maybe I could be of some help."

Solt blinked. "How so?"

"Well, Sir Dragoons..." The Nanashi clapped a hand to his side. "You know the most effective way to battle a man of the White-type innate. Since that sort of innate seems to form an automatic shield against all other Elemental attacks, you must employ the absolute opposite. Do you have any Black-type Elemental skills?"

"HAH! What a thing to ask!" Peppor thumped his chest. "We're seasoned Dragoons- we have Elements of every shakin' kind to dispatch our opponents! Why, between myself and Sir Solt here, we've got the whole rainbow."

"...Um, well, Peppor, uh..."

Peppor felt his breakfast go sour in his gut. "...Yes, Sir Solt?"

Solt smiled timidly. "Well, you see, um...since Black Elements are pretty hard to come by..."

Peppor smiled back and fingered the edge of his axe a few times. "Yeah? Go on, Solt. Finish that sentence. Complete that dependent clause."

"Um, uh..." Solt looked back at the Nanashi, sweat running down the back of his neck. "Mister Nanashi, suppose we didn't have any Black Elements for use against this fiendishly fiendish fiend! What might you offer us?"

_I swear to the Gods, I will murder you in your sleep, I will sew your moustache to your ass and make you brush your teeth with toilet paper, I will use you as the Sky Dragon's personal TOOTHPICK_

"Well...it's not the most conventional Element skill," the Nanashi said, looking thoughtful as he reached into his tunic, "but I daresay it's a most powerful technique. Since they were discovered in El Nido, Elements are prized all over Zenan, so obtaining this was a daunting task- however, I have found it of great use in dispatching the demons and wraiths that occasionally habit the continent." The swordsman drew from that tunic a tiny silver chain, on which two jewels were attached- a black crystal and a white crystal, though they were clear enough to be glass. Peppor looked closer, frowning- the black crystal had a white ring drawn around it, and the white had a black ring painted over its curves. Definitely Elements, but he'd never seen ones with paint on them.

Solt blinked. "What's so powerfully powerful about these, now?" 

"They work together." The Nanashi winked. "You see, if you cast one of these Elements on someone, it changes their innate to Black-type or White-type, depending on which crystal you use. In this case, you would use the Black Element- we've dubbed it 'Turn Black' in Truce, where I found these. The second Element, however, acts more offensively- using the link between these two crystals, and taking advantage of the difference in power between Black and White, it strikes the body with another wave of energy that can render even a wild Heckran unconscious. Pow! Just like that. We dubbed the White attack 'Holy Light.'"

_Oh baby oh baby oh baby..._ Peppor leered at the Elements like he would Lisa's shapely waist. "Whoa-ho-ho...now thatsa spicy meat-a-ball..."

The Nanashi smiled. "You like? You're welcome to them in your pursuit, sirs. I've mastered these abilities on my own- I no longer have use of them. Anything I can do to help the defenders of El Nido, you know-"

"Yeah yeah yeah, great, nice to see you majored in Communications, we'll take 'em." Peppor nodded absently, grabbing the Elements from the Nanashi's hand. He clutched them in his palm, still gaping at the immense surge of power he felt from just _holding_ the damn things. By the Spice! With these at his side, he and Solt could be the strongest Dragoons in the militia...

"Mr. The Nanashi...thank you so much!" Solt whimpered, bowing deeply. "We will...aaahh...we will always remember your kindly kindness! You are a truly true hero! You are a finely fine man! You are a bravely brave swordsman! You are a goodlishly good person! Thank you! You may proceed, good sir!"

...you know, it'd be good to take these for a test run before Puberty Boy gets here.

"Why, certainly, sirs," the Nanashi said, still with that gentleman's smile. "May the Six Dragon Gods guide and bless your task- I pray you will have no trouble in apprehending this young criminal. Now..." The black-haired man wrung the chain he wore over his back, tucking it further into the back of his tunic. "If you'll pardon me, sirs, I'd better go see what that eerie wailing is all about. Good day!"

Solt stood to attention and saluted. "Good day!"

"G'day," Peppor muttered, stroking the Elements even as the Nanashi walked by. Don't make that silver-imitation tongue recite too many dead languages.

The Nanashi's footsteps faded quickly along the valley path, and Solt hopped over to Peppor, wheezing with excitement, even stamping his halberd on the ground. "Oh gods oh gods oh gods oh gods oh gods, Peppor! Peppoooor! We've got them now! We've got the ultimately ultimate –Power!"

"The shakin' ultimate, Solt," Peppor said, in high spirits for perhaps the first time that day. He glanced behind him at the retreating figure of the Nanashi, and then back to the Elements, still gaping. "By Viper...we're packin' some serious spice! Solt! Are you shakin' what I'm shakin'?"

"We're going to lay low, set up an ambush, and then jump that boy when he comes through the area, turning his innate black and striking him with the white Element, and then drag him back to Viper Manor where we'll be lauded as heroically heroic heroes?"

Peppor looked at him, blinking. "...that, uh...yeah. _Yeah._ Yeah, damn, that's exactly it! Solt, you just said something smart!"

Solt turned pink, his moustache twitching. "Oh, well, I try, Peppor! That and I do believe it was implied by what our friend proposed to us, seeing as he took the time and the effort to equip us with these Elements for the purpose of employing them in our campaign against the ghost-boy and his entourage of criminals, so I truly can't claim fully full intuition, it was really just commonly common sense, which is of course as innately innate as my innately innate color of yellow, and therefore it's- it's really just naturally natural, you know- AAH!"

Peppor slammed his palm on Solt's forehead, shaking it. "_DEMON BEGONE!_"

"Aaaah!" Solt whined and stumbled back. "What was that for! You almost hurt my shaker!"

At the last word, Peppor sighed in relief. "Whew...hah! I don't know what's the big whoop about this exorcism thing- piece of cake!" He grinned to himself and stared down at the Elements. "Gods...we can do this. Solt, we're going to be heroes!"

Solt hopped up and down vigorously, his squeals carrying through the valley. "Heroes! Yay! Now even General Viper will have to get down on his knees before our behinds!"

"...or, uh, just award us some medals!" Solt squeaked.

"Much...better." Peppor shook his head, wondering how many years he'd aged in that awkward silence. But it was no matter now! Now...now they could prove to Karsh and Viper and, Gods rest his soul, Dario. He clenched the Elements tight, and grinned until it hurt. "Solt, old boy...we're gonna kick it up a notch. Bam!"

"YIPPIE!"

Peppor was too happy this time to scream.

**

* * *

**

"I'll never get why people leave behind hygiene when they go on these epic journeys. Really, I mean, come on...you can't possibly expect to get very far with one change of clothing. What if you spill something on it? Sure, you could wash it, but then you have to find a water supply somewhere, costing you that much more valuable adventure time. And when you finally do find that water supply, what are you going to wash your clothes with? Soap is too harsh- not that it would matter, since you didn't bother to _pack_ soap, you filthy pig. Detergent could harm the precious wildlife- not that you'd care, since you slaughter them at every turn with your Blade of Compensation to harvest gold from their bodies. That's why you should pack a few fochin berries, because not only does their juice get out even the most humiliating stain, but they also make great tooth and gum cleansers. Of course, my sister Una says they can cause multicolored hallucinations, but only in rare cases. Now this can all be easily avoided if you just pack some extra clothes, toothbrush, toothpaste, and at least two bars of soap. Am I right, Serge?"

_And here I was trying to remember the OTHER thing that hadn't changed about Leena_.

Serge smiled like he'd licked of his favorite ice cream. "Absolutely, Leena. Now will you give that back?"

Leena shook her head from where she sat on the grass, scrubbing at the bloodstains on Serge's bandana with her soap and little bucket of water. "Not until it's fit to protect your pretty blue hair from the rays of the sun, my good Serge."

"Aagh..." Serge cast a forlorn glance at the blue locks of hair hanging naked over his forehead, mingled with sweat and so, so not in the style he liked. For the past hour and a half it had been like that, as they trekked in a diamond formation towards Fossil Valley (with him emphatically at the back). The island heat waned a little around their present course, though, perhaps because Exeter had led them closer to the patch of trees on the east of the path to Fossil Valley. Though, with what felt like a hundred pounds of provisions on his back, they might as well have still been on the plain- and of course, Leena just _had_ to clean his bandana now, when it was already past noon.

But at least she was acting like Leena again.

That made it bearable.

They were now facing Fossil Valley, which, in itself, had not changed- Serge had still seen the twin mountains from back at Arni, reaching high into the clouds, and the wind still blew coolly from it. Up this close, it was still a majestic view, and Serge already had to crane his head to see the tops of the two peaks, scraping the sky. They were too close to the valley now, but just a short distance back and to the east had been the Divine Dragon Falls, far off past the Lake that shared the name. They, too, had not changed. The Hydra Marshes were much farther east of the waterfall and the lake, too much for him to see, but he did notice that some more mist than usual continued to roll in from there. Strange.

Ex said they're no place to be, anyway- wonder why? That chi-user hanging out there? A Dragoon regiment camped out there? More Hydras in this world? Beeba Tribe turn rabid? Some sort of succubi probl...no, wait, then he'd WANT to go-

"Oi, ya look like you're about to drop- lemme get that for ya."

The Swallow was off his back before Serge could protest, but not before he could jerk. Kid had come up along his right, pilfering his broken weapon effortlessly. She fell into step with him, offering a grin as she slung it over her shoulder. "Hehe, s'okay," she said, "it woulda been harder for me to grab if ya didn't have that backpack."

"Pffsh..." Serge hefted the bag up, smiling wryly. "You grab my Swallow, Leena there grabs my bandana...you're just begging for a dirty joke from Ex, you know."

Far in the front, Exeter half-turned, raising a finger. "Ac-actually, uh, I've been working on one for the past several minutes, if- if you'd like to hear-"

"Keep walking, Ex," Leena growled, and he sidled humbly back into the lead.

"Haha! Whipped like a mule!" Kid grinned, skipping a step closer to Serge- it drew quite a parallel between her 'hyper-strolling' and his lagging like an overburdened donkey. She seemed to pay it no mind, though, instead glancing at the Swallow she cradled in her hands. "So, huh! Quite a trinket ya got here, mate- a Swallow, ya called it this mornin'? Never seen nothin' like this before."

Serge half-grinned- if the Swallow had been in any decent shape, it would have been a full grin. "I think I'm the only guy in El Nido who uses a Swallow, yeah," he said. "They don't come easy and they don't learn easy, either. Double-blades, hard to control without cutting yourself."

"I hear ya," Kid said, running a hand over the blade Karsh had cloven, whistling. "Amazin' that you could fight with it like y'did, back there...me with my little knife, I don't think I can compare."

"You're fast and you're handy with Elements- you can compare." Serge pulled the backpack up further, muscles groaning a little more; he wondered why Leena didn't pack the heavy stuff at the front of the pack like she usually did. He stopped wondering pretty quickly. "Hell, at least you brought down your pick- me, I couldn't do anything..."

"He was one of them Devas, though- and yer only a year older than me, yeah?" Kid reached over and slugged him gently on the shoulder. "Beatin' him woulda taken a whole bloody brigade- and ya still managed t'scratch him with that beam o' light! That's sayin' a lot."

"It is," Leena said- then, blushing, turned a smile to them. "Sorry, I don't mean to eavesdrop...but, um, yes, Serge- if you really did get a nick on _Karsh_ of all people...well, no wonder they want to bring you in! I don't think even Exeter could do that."

The sound of Exeter slapping his forehead rang through the plains. "You know, as _I _recall, it was _my_ Carnage Gale that sent all _five_ of those clowns rolling down Cape Howl..."

Serge clucked his tongue. "Well, he's got a poi- OOF!"

Kid snorted, flinging her free arm around Serge's shoulders (and he still groaned at the extra weight). "Ha! My mate Serge here coulda done that in half the time! He floats like a Heckran 'n stings like a Beeba!" She paused there, blinking, and leaned contemplatively on Serge's back, tapping his Swallow on her shoulder. "Well, actually, Heckrans- they dun float, bein' as they don't have wings, so I guess it's more of a lumberin' or a weavin' step-"

"Please...Kid...hernia..."

Kid managed to get off Serge by his second wheeze-cough, thwapping herself on the head. "Sorry! Oi, lemme help you there..." Kid said, tucking the Swallow under an arm and grabbing a strap of the pack. "Heh! Bah, this ain't so heavy...lemme take it for ya, yeah?"

It occurred to Serge that Exeter's silence was probably derived from the fact that Kid was fussing over _him_. He had to grin, but grabbed the pack straps anyway, cracking his back as he summoned new strength to help him. "It's all right, I got it, I got it," Serge said. "Just- I can't handle all ninety-nine pounds of pretty girl on top of me."

"What th- ninety-nine?" Kid put her hands on her hips, scowling. "Are ya tryin' to piss me off? I'm not a stick! I'm at least a bloody one-twenty!"

"Oh, uh..." Serge glanced away nervously, cursing Exeter- '_guess their weight and guess low' my butt_- then returned with his happiest smile to Kid. "No, uh, I believe you. Yup, not an ounce over one hundred and twenty pounds."

"Pffsh..." Kid shook her head, her smile opening over some teeth. "Well, ya know how to make your compliments, so I'll letcha off! 'Sides, I am gettin' a little scrawny..."

"Hey, if Termina still has that squid gut pasta, we can take care of that," Serge said, then made a face like he'd sucked a lemon. "The name, uh, leaves something to be desired...but it's still good! I think. That's what Bushido Libido up there always says."

At that point, Exeter looked back with the same expression. "What th- 'Bushido Libido'?" he said, and tried to ignore the snickers from Kid and Leena. He shook his head, grinning. "First 'ass goblin' and now this, huh? You really _have_ been hanging around me too much."

"You're like a foreign language, Ex," Serge said, winking. "It takes a while, but you pick it up."

"That's the spirit, apprentice Serge! Adapting the mannerisms of the great Exeter shall carry you far and wide," Exeter said, grinning. "It's all clear skies and smooth sailing once you embrace...actually, there'll be plenty of time to preach at Termina, so I'll go easy on your ears."

"_Thank_ you." Leena shook her head, then cocked it back with a bright smile, stretching out the bandana in her hands. "Hey, I'm done! Okay, Serge, once we stop to rest, I'll help you tie it back on the way you like it."

The last part of that drew Serge's head back an inch. He tried not to mind it, smiled, and nodded. "Thanks, Leena," he said. His voice was light when he spoke; he was running out of breath faster than he'd imagined. Serge clucked his tongue silently. That probably wouldn't be so if they were going to _his_ Fossil Valley. Strange how everything seemed different while looking exactly the same. The trees, the grass, the mists over the looming bluffs, even the scent of the wind- it was all just as it had always been. And it wasn't. Maybe a tree was a little less slanted than he remembered. Maybe the mists huddled lower in the valley. Maybe the wind blew north instead of south.

Maybe Leena kept trembling when she looked at him.

"...hey."

Kid's whisper in his ear and her hand on his shoulder kicked Serge back into reality. He looked over and saw the confusion wrinkling her blue eyes and her cheeks (and he wondered when she'd repainted them), and the smile that had turned worried. "You holdin' up there, mate?"

Serge blinked, nodding quickly. "Yeah yeah, yeah, I'm fine..." he said, voice as low as hers. "What, did I look sad or something?"

"Oh, no no, not a bit," Kid said, drawing back her hand but not before pressing her fingers on his arm. "Just a lil'...I dunno. You looked lost."

"Any farther and I probably will be, heh..." He smiled back, hefting up the bag- the breeze made it a little easier to carry now. "I've only been to Termina a couple times as a kid. I've never been that far north at all, actually. Porre has checkpoints set up in my world, you can only get there if you're on business. Same with the Hydra Marshes, to the east, but I can't say I've ever gone that far either. When it comes down to it, Arni's really all I know."

"Still know more 'bout these islands than me." Kid put her hand to her forehead and made a far-and-wide glance, then shook her head with a conceding grin. "Only been to Termina a few times m'self, but I've never taken the same kinda route, if ya know what I mean. I'll go through the valley 'n I'll end up at the marshes or somewhere. Ahh, I can't take two steps without getting' meself lost...hopeless I am! I still can't believe I made it to the Nido."

Serge laughed. "It isn't exactly the easiest place to get to," he said. "Currents, storms, sheez...takes people a week to get here from Zenan. Tons of water- gee, have you noticed?"

The paint on her cheeks gleamed with a wider grin, and she slung her arm around his shoulders again, her necklace shaking as she bounced along. "I like ya, mate! It's good to have a travellin' companion with a sense o' humor! One that don't involve starin' at me chest, anyway." Kid shook him playfully and cast a happy glance around the matted, olive-tinted grass forming a path through the two clusters of palm trees that led to Fossil Valley. "Huh...y'know what, I think we're close to the Falls."

"Huh?" Leena turned, her gold-flecked eyes suddenly alert. "What'd you s...oh, sorry!" She wrung Serge's bandana sheepishly in her hands, smiling. "You guys went quiet for a minute, so I listened in, just, just a little..."

"Tch, quit apologizin', don't worry 'bout it!" Kid made a cheeky little salute with the broken end of Serge's Swallow. "I was just sayin' we're close to some waterfalls or somethin'- prolly past that lil' patch of trees right there," she said, nodding to the eastern cluster of palms. "Wish we had time for a dip! I'm so hot 'n sweaty, I could use a bath..."

Serge felt a blush jump from his stomach to his cheeks. _Ahh crap I didn't need to hear that in this heat and Exeter will turn around...right now!_

Right on cue, his friend in the lead turned _right _around in his step, boot neatly skidding on the grass. The grin faded, though, when he saw Exeter's face. It wasn't readying itself for a wisecrack with a crooked brow or a half-smile. Exeter's brows were knitted and his lips straight, slightly puckered from a set jaw.

That was a damn serious look, and it stopped Serge and the two girls. Serge's hands slowly tightened around the straps of the backpack. "Ex? Something wrong?" he asked.

Exeter's head moved slowly from side to side, silently scanning. "...I'm not sure," he said, frowning deeper, then slowly sliding the Murakumo off his shoulders- which _scared_ Serge. "Keep your voices down, just to be sure."

If it was important enough for Exeter to take his sword off his back, it was important enough for anyone. Kid and Leena recognized that, too, and wordlessly Kid passed the Swallow back to Serge, jaw set. Serge set his own, throwing a wide look around the fields- particularly around the trees. If there was a presence Exeter could detect, it would come from the woods...

Leena was biting her lower lip as she turned around, the soap and bandana held tightly in her hands. "Do you..." she said, then winced and lowered her voice, "do you think...Karsh?"

Serge looked at Kid, who shook her head. "Karsh's probably past the Valley by now," Kid said, quietly. "He wouldn't stick around here..." Her cerulean eyes flared at the pause. "Unless-"

"That guy..." Serge gritted his teeth, now holding his weapon in both hands. "That guy that took out those two other Dragoons. He might still be around."

Leena blinked, throwing a cursory glance over her shoulder before asking, "What, what guy?"

"There was this...weird monk guy, who showed up at the Cape," Serge said, scratching his hair- still blazing from the noon sun. "He got the Dragoons after him, but...strangest thing was that he used '_chi_.'"

Leena looked blank. "_Chi_?"

"Yeah, it's what Chief Radi...oh. Right." Serge forced a laugh, if only to avoid the kind of sigh that Leena just gave. "_Chi_ is a force. It's the energy that forms when two or more Elements respond to each other. El Nido is abundant in it," he said, trying to keep his voice low despite the tangent he was going off on. "Often you can use it to detect other people, animals, most everything. It's how Ex and I keep track of each other- if I, you know, can't find him by the screams." He winked, then squeezed the Swallow again. "And this monk guy could use it, too...I felt the same energy coming from him. In waves. He could even dissipate Elements. You can only do that with _chi_ at the _really_ high levels."

"...whoa." Leena was fascinated, if not still a little blank. "We- what did he look like?"

"You'd know him if ya saw him," Kid muttered, one hand on her hips and the other grazing the pommel of her dagger. "Musclehead with a ponytail 'n a smirk on his face 'n really loud, annoyin' one-liners..."

All eyes turned back to Exeter.

The swordsman looked up, cocked an innocent eyebrow, and spread his hands. "What? What is this massive conspiracy against...ah, forget it!" Exeter waved a hand, giving them an assuring look. "Well, you can raise your voices, there's nobody within a mile of us at least..." he said. "But, Serge, ah, could you come over here?"

Serge flicked a thumb at his chest. "Me?"

"Yeah, help me out with something," Exeter said. He went down on one knee, his left hand lowering to touch the grass, fingers sifting through it. "Come over here, would you? Let's do a Check."

"Oh...oh, okay!" Serge quickly slipped an arm out of the backpack strap, _cooing_ with relief as he let it slump to the ground. "Oh, thank the Gods above, at last, Gods that feels good, Gods, thank you, thank you...hold on, you two, all right?" he said to Leena and Kid, rubbing his back with his free hand as he walked over to Exeter and knelt down on the grass.

Exeter nodded towards the ground, brushing his fingers over grass that was already impressed. "Touch the ground and do a Check. You remember how, don't you?"

"Heh, yeah..." Serge went down on one knee beside Exeter, setting the broken Swallow down and touching the same grass. "I might have spent too much time around talismans, though."

Leena's furrowed brow met Kid's upraised one for a second, then she looked back to the two males. "Hey...what are you two doing?"

"Gathering _chi_," Exeter said, still moving his hands through the grass. "Check, Serge."

"Right..." Serge tucked his head in, spread his palm over the grass as he brushed it, and began to well up some _chi_, a fairly easy task- then he frowned. Practicing day after day for thirteen years had taken his skill with this force to an above-average level. In Arni- his Arni- he was ranked as third in regard to ability with _chi_, upped only by Exeter and Chief Radius.

He might as well have been a novice. The land resisted him.

Serge shook his head. "If you wanted to remind me that this isn't home-"

"That's not it." Exeter wedged his fingers deeper into the ground. "Dig your fingers into the dirt. That isn't what I wanted to show you."

Serge paused, then shrugged, placing his fingers against the ground once more. He pressed his fingers down until he felt dirt under his nails, and breathed in as he began to 'pull' the energy towards his hand without moving a single muscle. Radius' words turned over in his mind as they always did, the old man's rich voice helpful and sorely missed. _Spread and gather, spread and gather, let it attach to you, let it be as your own five fingers drawing back into a fist..._

It took a second more, but it worked. This time the land gave way, and the energy came. That mysterious power that bound all elements and danced between their borders found him, and Serge felt a tingle of something beyond cold and heat run up his hand. Usually it rocketed up his arm in all of a second, but it struggled here, as though trying to scale the whole of the limb. The tingle patched itself bit-by-bit up to his elbow, turned the hinge, washed over his bicep- stung for a moment at the healed wound inflicted by Karsh's axe, continued up to his shoulder. Serge's stomach remained tensed all through the gathering, not used to having to pull this greatly, but his breathing remained even; it wasn't impossible. That was the important thing.

The tingle finally curved around his shoulder, up through his neck...there. He could feel it. He could see it.

Serge turned his head back up, glancing over at Kid and Leena. "...there's a field effect in place."

"Field effect?" Kid scratched her head, tapped her foot, and did essentially everything she could to let them know she was bewildered. "Whaddaya mean?"

"A field effect is what you get when there's an abundance of _chi_," Exeter said, pulling his head back up. "Whenever Elements are used, natural energies flare and then leave a trace of their aura behind- sort of like smoke after a fire's put out. The fire's gone, but not all of its properties are. Elements are the same, and the properties left behind can strengthen, weaken, neutralize, or unaffect...that's not a word..._not affect at all_ Elements that are used afterward."

"Where did you learn this?" Leena asked, frowning. "I've never heard you talk about _chi_ before in my life, Ex...w-well, not 'you', but my Ex, he never talked about it."

"'My Ex', huh, say that again?" Exeter winked, his free hand wiping his brow. "Well, I learned from Radius, after the war, so if he was never Chief in this world, then that explains it." He brushed back his hair, tongue rolling against his cheek as he glanced off to the east. "Serge, what do you notice about this particular field effect?"

Serge pressed his palm flat to the earth, eyes narrowing as he scanned the tingling sensation a little further. "...It's pretty muddied up. I'm getting like- yeah, like a, like a green-type, with a flare of something else around it. Red or yellow...it's too small to tell." Colors were all one could really associate with field effects, as drawing _chi_ filled the mind with moving colors, as though you were closing your eyes and someone was shining a colored light in your face. That was the sensation Serge drew as the tingle ebbed away.

"Green, yellow, and red, yes, though I might've touched on some blue. It's the green that's dominant, though," Exeter said, nodding thoughtfully. "Someone used an extremely powerful Element, and without the use of a talisman. The air's been stirred...it was likely a Wind Element."

"It _is_ that Deva bastard, then!" Kid's hand went to her dagger at last, gripping the wrapped hilt with purpose- Serge noticed her stance was now tense, her movements shaky when she wavered, her whole body on edge for some reason he did not know. Kid followed Exeter's stare off to the east, glaring. "Karsh...he's the only one on the whole bloomin' island that could do that."

Leena was more than a little disturbed at the sight of Kid's dagger edging out of its sheath- she put her hand on the other girl's shoulder, tentatively. "Just, just hold on, if he's around he's still far away," she said. "Outside of a mile, that's what you said, right, Ex? Maybe it was from earlier, when he was chasing that monk?"

"Tch...maybe." Kid eased the dagger back into its scabbard, shrugging under Leena's hand. "Sorry, but I ain't takin' no chances with any Dragoons...'cept our swordmate here."

Holding back a giggle at Exeter's groan, Serge grabbed his Swallow and lifted up from the ground, wiping his hand on his trunks. "Good idea- ah, also, I can't trace the root of the effect," he said, looking to Exeter. "Can you?"

"I can," Exeter said, and pointed. "Over there, off towards the east, a little to the south...only one place over there I can think o-"

"Divine Dragon Falls..."

The quiet, revering, and shocked way Leena said it turned Serge's head to her. Her hand had fallen from Kid's shoulder with trembling fingers. She looked back at his curious face for a moment, blinked, turned her face away with a swallow, and squeezed his bandana in her hand with the little bar of wet soap- she was clearly shaken. "S-sorry, I was wondering about it before when you were talking about the water, just..." She sighed, her skirt rippling with a shudder. "That place- you wouldn't believe how scared the rest of Arni is of it..."

Serge cocked his head back. "Scared? Of the Falls? Why...?"

"It's...it's hard to explain." Leena tapped her teeth together, slipping the soap idly into her pocket and smoothing out Serge's bandana, looking only at that. "You might think it's weird, I don't know, but it's just in the stories they tell us as kids...you know? The storytellers. They say it's haunted."

"Uh..." Kid ran a gloved finger along her ear, smiling nervously at Leena. "Girlie, girlie, c'mon...you don't believe in ghosts no more, do ya?"

"You'd be surprised, Kid, you would _really_ be surprised," Leena said, her voice rising a note. "They- they always talk about how this cult used to gather there, before El Nido was colonized, whole centuries ago, how they did all these weird rituals in the caves under the Falls...there are still these weird demihumans that stay up there, and some of them never stop staring at the water. You can touch them and they won't look up at you..." She shook again, this time with a complete shiver. "Inside the caves, there are these formations that look like faces...and that's not half as bad as the Pond."

"The Pond?" Serge asked. "That big pool we passed way back?"

Leena nodded, putting her free hand on her arm, still looking only at the bandana. "That's the Divine Dragon Pond," she said, gently. "It's blessed...or cursed, I don't know. Magical, I'd call it. Something happens when you look into it. Sometimes you see things."

Kid pursed her lips. "Lemme guess...bad things?"

Leena shrugged, but it may as well have been a nod. "Sometimes the water shows you things...people, really. People you forgot, moments you shared with them that you didn't know you had. They seem so real. It's like they're looking into the water right next to you." She shut her eyes. "Like a blue that drinks you in..."

Serge blurted his thoughts. "Have you ever looked into it?"

A hushed and perhaps stung silence took Leena. She moved as though to turn her head up, perhaps look at Serge, but her eyes never made it past the bandana. She squeezed it, moved her shoulders in what might have been a shrug, and with her wounded expression answered the question.

She's looked.

Kid reached over and gently tapped the downcast girl on the back. "Hey now, girlie, cheer up..." she said, smiling weakly. "Sorry 'bout what I said, I didn't mean no offense or nothin'..."

"I know, I know, Kid..." Leena's lips twitched, something Serge knew she only did when she had caught herself acting morose or gloomy. She shrugged fully, eyes finally coming up, but only to meet Kid's assuringly. "Sorry, I get so...weird, over the weirdest things, it's so weird- haha, look at me..."

They smiled at each other, and Serge did too, even if neither of them was looking at him- and then he caught Exeter's hand moving in a subtle stroke over the swordsman's chin. Serge glanced over, raising a brow. "What are _you_ looking at?" he asked.

"This touching moment." Exeter grinned, batting his eyes playfully. "Don't they look so...cute together?"

Serge smacked his forehead (and, as Leena and Kid balled their free hands into fists, eased out of range). "_Now_ I know what's causing this heat, it's your stupid hormones! Your sex drive's like a volcano."

"Except _this _volcano never goes extinct!" Exeter proudly flicked a thumb at himself, winking to all three of them. "Yeah, did you know that? There are three stages a volcano can enter- active, dormant, and extinct. Active means it still erupts quite regularly. Dormant means it's stopped erupting but is still capable. Extinct means it's pretty much out of gas. That's pretty useful information. You should write that down, Serge, get yourself a medal someday. Where the hell's your notebook? Aw, forget it."

Kid looked with a twitching eyebrow at Serge and Leena. "You...two're from Arni, eh?" she asked, pointing. "Where the blue hell'd you _find_ this guy?"

"You know, I have actually no idea," Serge said, "but I'm betting he just showed up one day and said, 'hey, uh, this village have a sex offender yet? 'Cause I'm on my lunch break and I got thirty minutes...'"

Exeter looked more flustered at Serge's flawless impersonation of his voice than at Kid and Leena doubling over. Serge gave him a grin, the sound of the girls' laughter chipping away at the tension that had built up in his body. He inhaled, then, as if to bring them back to the matter at hand. "Well, about that field effect, then," he said, hands on his hips, "we ought to hurry up. If it _is_ Karsh, he probably wants to get back to the Manor as fast as he can, huh?"

"Or he's already sent word for a patrol," Exeter said, grimly. "Unlikely, but it's more incentive to clear the Valley first."

"Right..." Leena chewed her lip a moment- suddenly jerked, glancing up at Serge. "Oh! Oh, I'm sorry, I forgot I had your bandana..." She offered a shaky smile he hadn't seen before, pacing over to him on the grass and offering the cloth to him in both hands. It was well-wrinkled and looked damper than it had under her scrubbing.

Serge smiled and took it anyway. "Thanks, Leena, I appreciate it." He offered a big monkey grin and wrapped the wet cloth around his head- it actually felt better like that. His scalp was surely cooked from the sun, and probably dirty too, as he hadn't managed to bathe in a while. Usually by this late in the day he'd gone for a dip in the ocean, then gotten under a shower (lovely invention) and washed the salt out of his hair. Already he missed the smell of the sea that they'd left back in Arni...not even Fossil Valley's mists could match that kind of beauty.

There was a cheesy line to make about beauty there, since he was still looking at Leena. He felt his cheeks start to warm up. _Just before I passed out, back on the beach...was she really..._

At that point, Leena flushed and looked away, and Serge felt something in him drop. No. She wasn't. She wasn't the real Leena, or he wasn't the real Serge, or something else was making it so they weren't the same as before. That had never happened between them...at least not between the two people standing three feet away from each other. He wondered, though, if the girl standing in front of him- the girl who was everything he had grown up with and everything he hadn't- could ever do what 'she' had been going to on the beach.

A lithe arm snared his neck and saved him from delving too far into teenage angst. "Aha, that's the rub!" Kid laughed into Serge's ear, grinning wide and- _is that a blush or am I thinking like Ex_- shaking him a little. "Now ya look complete, mate. Actually, all's we gotta do is get ya your Sparrow there fixed-"

"Swallow," Serge whined.

"Swallow what? Water? Pride? Lust for gold? If it's lust for gold, then _never_!" She shook him and her grin turned toothier. "I'm on a big gold trip, 'n you're comin' with me!"

"Oh, ha ha...heh, hey, actually, that's kind of funny- NO it isn't!" Serge wrestled his way out of Kid's grip, holding up a finger and scowling like his mom always did. "Listen up, you little...minx," he said, forcing his eyes straight up, "I may be many things, but I'm a pillar of virtue and I'm not interested in treasure hunts!"

"Aww..." Kid put her hands behind her back and leaned forward, batting her eyelashes. "C'mon, mate, there's a whole world o' adventure t'be had in the likes o' treasure huntin'! Gold, silver, sapphires, rubies, emeralds...so many shinies..."

The problem with his cheeks was that they gave him absolutely no warning until they actually turned pink. Serge turned eyes the size of dinner plates up to the sky. "UH, w...well, you make a convincing argument..." _Come on, I already know you aren't wearing a bra..._

Exeter made the kind of sound dogs make when they truly want food. "Hmmf...I'd say something here, but you girls have seriously hard fists..."

"Bah! I've had just about enough o' this lech," Kid said, mispronouncing 'lech.' She retrieved the bag from the floor and- in a move that emasculated Serge- hefted it up in one arm. Cheerily she strode back over, hand on her hip, her abdominal muscles not even tensed from the enormous weight. "Ready t' go? Termina parties while we dally!"

Exeter was all too happy to take the lead again, sidling his sword over his back. "Then let us move on," he said dramatically. "For what dangers lie down this journey are presently unknown. What enemies we shall face, what treasures we shall uncover, what demons we shall confront, what love we shall m-"

"Make him stooop..." Serge wrenched his bandana on his head, faking a sob. "The pain..."

Leena blew through her lips, letting out a giggle she had clearly been trying to mask. Serge immediately beamed, sharing a grin. "Hey, that's more like it," he said. "I need to complain about Ex more often, that's worth hearing."

"Yeah, well..." Leena shrugged in several directions, smiling back at him. "Sorry for killing the mood. I don't know why those old stories scare me so much. I'm just really, really afraid of ghosts..."

Serge really tried not to wince at that, and tipped his bandana further down his head. "Don't worry, we're all of us flesh and blood," he said, shakily. "This is just a weird mixup. I'm sure people get booted across dimensions all the time. We'll figure out how to set things right, trust me..."

Her lips shrank and twitched. "I...I'll trust you, sure." She paused, then, her eyes aside, added, "Serge."

Serge smiled wide. _Thanks, even if it is a lie._ "I trust you, too, Leena."

"Hmm..." Exeter paused in his step towards the front, looking at Kid (at least part of her). "I trust _you_, Kid." The wild girl gave him a look that sent him packing. Exeter rather quickly popped a finger up, taking point once more and turning to face the valley. "Right, right, trust is all well and good for everybody but me! In that case, let's get on with it. The last thing I want to do is spend too much time in Fossil Valley, Nature's Greatest Brain Fart."

"Boy, you said it..." Serge reached around and found the little loop on the back of his shirt for the Swallow, and hooked it on. He looked at Kid and raised his eyebrows. "To the party?"

Kid pumped a fist. "To the party!"

He gave Leena the same look. "To a city so far out of the way and with a guy so hormonal that you're wondering why you even bothered coming along?"

"...well, I guess it beats standing around and looking sad for no reason," she said, sighing and stuffing the soap (soap, where did she get that soap, he wondered) and cloth into the pockets of her skirt. "Lead the way!"

"Gladly." Serge threw a smile all around and walked after Ex, Kid and Leena hiking along. Fossil Valley seemed that much closer now, all rocks and mist and the howl of ancient wind- he had never traveled so far past that in his world, and his memories of Termina were locked away in parts of his mind he couldn't get to anymore. So it really did feel like an adventure this time.

He kept that smile until he remembered that voice on the beach.

'had you in my jaws'

That monk, that voice, that grave...that godawful dream...are you supposed to be this scared on an adventure?

Serge tugged the Swallow, and walked faster.

* * *

Much better.

Glenn imagined this day to be an apology for the last one. He had gotten up just a little before dawn to get ready for the day's events, and he'd been greeted with a pleasantly clear sky and a cool breeze, blowing in from the dark green ripples of the nearby Shadow Forest. Happy to indulge it for a good hour, he had chosen to stretch his muscles in the east courtyard of Viper Manor. That had been some time ago, when he had the advantage of the waning darkness before dawn to aid him in those stretches. He always exercised then, and never a minute after sunrise, but today he'd stopped a little earlier. That bothered him; he usually trained for a set amount of minutes- up to about an hour and a half- and was diligent in keeping that record set.

It's still a nice day. Besides...some days you just don't 'feel' it. And with a katana stained with wine and a Lady to escort through a raving city, I sure don't.

Glenn was at the well nestled away in the corner of the broad main courtyard, relaxing in the shade provided by the two palm trees on either side and the bush of atho berries curling around it. Now fully clad in his armor and readied up for the day, his white headband tied up around his sweat-dampened locks, he adjusted his sword as it lay in its scabbard. Though the proper way to keep a katana sheathed was at one's side with the blade turned up, Glenn had gotten used to keeping it sheathed low over his stomach, so he didn't trip anything or anybody. It was too complicated to unsheathe the weapon from his back as well, but placing it in front of him allowed him to shift it to any comfortable position and draw, and so he had always kept it that way- though it often got a stifled giggle out of any gutter-minded individual in the area.

Idly, Glenn glanced down at the katana, and sighed at how..._alien_ it looked. He had nothing against the warriors from North Zenan, who shared a long history with the katana and its kin, but for whatever reason, it felt strange to him. Though he was no knight- _not really, I'm not_- it didn't seem right to be wielding one of these foreign blades. They were good swords, though, and bloody good swords at that. They were sharp enough to take off limbs with just snipping cuts, ideal for any number of techniques, and elegantly balanced with powerful stamina. The katana was revered throughout the world yet practiced by few, for mastering the blade took years and years. Glenn had practically jumped at the chance to try this one, made of fine mythril silver- though silver was a cruddy metal and he normally would have laughed at any blade forged of it, this was mythril silver, and combined with the power of a katana, he had been almost giddy to try it when the old blacksmith Zappa presented it to him.

He hadn't been disappointed, necessarily, but there was one thing he didn't like about it. That one thing was far beyond the wine stain now decorating its blade, and in times like these, with Porre on the horizon and pirates making their raids from out at sea, it was the most damning flaw to consider: they weren't flexible. Although incredibly sharp, they were too hard to drive through armor. In particular, they were too hard to drive through Porre body armor.

They have the guns, we have the Elements, but neither side is stupid enough to abandon armor...even so, this sword...

Disillusionment. He was not a stranger to it.

Glenn shook his head and patted the blade, like a tutor comforting a failed pupil- or perhaps the other way around, as though to thank the weapon for trying. In truth, it wasn't just that one thing about the armor. As it turned out, Glenn had been more than a little humbled by the idea of handling a real katana, and he was too used to his cruciform blades. He was more familiar with the techniques and tactics that came with them. That was what it came down to in a contest of blades...pure skill.

And I'm not skilled with one of these. I should have enough gold to cover a new forge from Master Zappa today...well, if Lady Riddel doesn't make me go on a spending spree, mind.

Speaking- or thinking- of which...

Glenn looked up at the windows of the manor. He could worry about swords anytime, but Riddel should have been up by now. Sadly, the soldiers of Viper Manor slept later than the Lady whom they were supposed to be guarding. His eyes scanned the massive front courtyard of Viper Manor, across the smooth grass and beige tile path to the manor's door, and wondered where were the front door guards, Vance and Helmholz. Good men, apt and alert- so why wouldn't they be up yet? A thought entered his mind that he didn't want to consider. He forced himself to do so. It was a very valid concern.

Perhaps one of the monsters attacked. Perhaps they're...

He shook his head. A stupid thought. Vance and Helmholz were good soldiers, in the same class as Trahn and the rest. Further, as...as villainous as that feline ambassador was, he wouldn't dare let one of those _things_ he kept in the manor loose on the Dragoons. General Viper would never stand for it.

Although...the General was standing for a lot of things, lately.

Glenn breathed through his nose, long and harsh, taking the pulley and bringing the bucket up from the well. He brought it to his mouth and drank until his teeth rang from the chill. Then he put it down on the rim, dipped his palm in, and ran some water over his face, just enough to wet his lips. As he stood there, he looked into the water, at the dark and whimpering reflection of himself he saw in there. It was so dark he almost could not make out the scar on his cheek. Had it begun to fade yet? Glenn could only hope. Riddel had once confessed to not particularly liking scars.

He stopped himself, sighing. Not that again. Glenn drank from another handful of water before taking the bucket back down the well, and he slumped when it was gone, head bowed as both hands found the rim. The sound of dripping water filled his ears with the distant chirping of birds, sounds that peppered his morning peacefully. Right now there was no such thing as "too quiet." Yet standing there, water dripping slowly from his chin to echo in the well, he became all too aware of something he'd begun to feel for a long time. The young Dragoon could sense it whenever he drew an Element for casting (still relying on talismans for the hard ones, he scolded himself) or whenever he tasted water from this little well after practice.

"The world is losing something..." Glenn sighed, tired and frustrated beyond katana and sinister guests. "_Losing_ something..."

"Then it falls on you to find the gain."

Glenn turned at the voice, for a moment too surprised to recognize it. When his eyes fell upon a towering frame of six-foot-eight, however, his posture stiffened and his hand came up in an immediate and flawless salute. "General..." he said, licking his lips. "Good morning, sir, excuse me."

"At ease." The General had a smile that pronounced his beard of kingly white, his eyes narrowed with something that might have been pride as he approached Glenn. For such an enormous man, and already dressed in his familiar but heavy black coat, General Viper never made a sound if he didn't want to. The man who was the ruler of El Nido crossed the dewed lawn to Glenn, towering over him as a father might with his hands behind his back in a military posture. "I would not have you forget your duty as a soldier this day, Glenn, but neither would I have you forget your youth," he said. "I hear you're treating my daughter for a day on the town."

"Yes, sir," Glenn said, a touch of warmth at his cheeks. "It was her idea. The Viper Festival begins today, the Magical Dreamers arrive as well, the churros will be freshly baked..." His tongue rippled with sudden desire, and if not the General's presence he might have grinned. _Churros, eh...?_

"Again with the sweet tooth, hah!" General Viper rumbled with a laugh, showing some teeth. "Don't let Riddel dissuade you from indulging it. That girl...obsessed with her health. Would you believe she hasn't eaten a dessert in over a year? Preposterous. And this night prior I had Orcha slave away making that peach ice cream."

Glenn could not resist a downward glance. "With all respect, General...last night was-"

"A spectacle?" The General's smile turned grim. "Yes, it was. Glenn, you must learn to defend without being defensive."

Part of Glenn wanted to scream at the much older man for all these damned lessons in paradox. "Forgive me, sir," Glenn gritted out, "but what Sir Draco said-"

General Viper cut him off again, and Glenn _really_ wanted to scream. "He is not of our kind, Glenn," he said, as though explaining it to a child. "His humor may be difficult for you to grasp, but it is yet humor. He meant no offense to Riddel at all. Even she understands that. Why can't you?"

Glenn clenched his fist, looking irately up at the morning sky. "Because I don't think of the Lady Riddel as a bag of meat."

That struck the General quiet a moment, and Glenn was glad it did. He avoided eye contact with his superior half to make his point and half because, despite his adulthood, his eyes still watered up with fury when someone was this blind. _Are you a host before you are a father?_ he wanted to shout. _You've known Riddel for longer than I was born and you still treat that WYRM with greater honor_

Glenn stopped his thoughts there. Probably best he hadn't said that- the General would have taken more offense to the word "wyrm" than he would have at Glenn's insubordination. Idiocy.

"I suppose in our tongue, it is quite curt," the General said, pursing his lips. "I shall of course speak to him on such manners, but come now, Glenn. Was your reaction honestly befitting? To draw your own sword at the dinner table...?"

That stopped him harder, and with a flinch. Glenn gave a sigh that deflated him; it was true. He had gone too far in drawing his weapon over such an insult as that. The General, for all his disagreeableness, had a point. "I know, sir," Glenn said. "I'm...I'm sorry. What I did was not becoming of a soldier, or even a vigil."

"No, it was not," the General said, stern-faced. "Glenn...let me sound like your superior, for a few moments. The strength to defend, to 'protect', as it were, is nothing without the strength to recognize your own mistakes. I know Riddel means much to you..."

Were it a time before the scar, Glenn would have wept. Now he settled on biting his lower lip. "...She has suffered much," Glenn said, swallowing. "I...General, I truly am sorry, I just can't help it. I look at her and all I see is two years' loneliness. I swore when Dario died..."

He trailed off on purpose, sold it all the way through. Either it worked or the General was politely annoyed, as he closed his eyes and bowed his head in a solemn nod. Glenn took that moment to glance up at Riddel's window, still dark. He felt an odd but familiar cold settle in him. Much as what he'd said was to pierce the shroud over the General's eyes- because that _had_ to be it, Lynx and the others had done something to him- that didn't mean it was all untrue. Glenn couldn't remember the last time he looked at Riddel full in the face and saw happiness unmarred by pain. He couldn't imagine Riddel's eyes without their heavy lids and soft shine, as though eternally drowsy. Before he had always thought of her as delicate. Now she was fragile.

His knuckles tested against his gloves. Sometimes, in his darker moments, he caught himself looking at the bed that had been Dario's and whispering, "How dare you die on her."

In his _darkest_ moments, he meant it.

"I apologize, General," Glenn said, suddenly, with a shaky smile. "I- I really do. I prattle on. Sometimes I forget I'm scarcely past the teenage years..."

General Viper broke his silence with a long, deep breath, and Glenn worried he might not be in the joking mood. When the smile came, though, it blossomed into a rakehell grin. "Even in your adulthood, you shall find it hard," the General said, and gave Glenn a pat on the shoulder with a hand half the size of the soldier's head. "I am glad to have you as my daughter's confidant, Glenn. And I know you will correct your own mistakes..."

Glenn knew what that meant. "Yes, sir. I will...apologize to Sir Draco," he said, hating the taste of the words in his mouth. "A day at the festival should cheer me enough to form the right words."

"Excellent, excellent." The General looked quite happy, and shared it with the sky, taking a deep breath- and letting it out in a slow blast. "Ho...Glenn, would you look at that?"

"Ahh? What now, sir?" Glenn asked.

The General pointed, quickly glancing at Glenn as though to guide his eyes up. "The sky, Glenn! Hurry, look, before it passes!"

Glenn moved a step forward from the well so he could get a better look. He squinted, following the General's gaze to search the sky, saw that a few clouds were stretched out thinly across the endless blue. He spotted what must have been an eagle overhead-

He froze. That was no eagle.

Despite the tone of the conversation prior, Glenn softened his gaze and let himself smile. The shape that passed overhead was greater than any bird of prey, and its flesh, half feathers and half scales, glinted with the morning sun. A long neck and a longer tail swept at either end of a muscled body, from which sprang a double pair of enormous wings. Each flap they took sent ripples through the clouds, but were delivered with such grace that the great beast may have been all but swimming in the sky, a windswept beacon of benevolence. It was that grace that was worshipped across the El Nido islands as the power of creation, an emissary of the heavens to guide their island.

The Sky Dragon God...

"God soars early today," the General said, smiling tangibly. "Rarely does She fly this far from Her island in the west. That is a good omen for your day, is it not?"

"For all of ours," Glenn agreed, turning without lowering his head to watch the Dragon of All Dragons fly past. Its shadow briefly fell over him, like a great fluttering curtain. "As long as She flies, we are yet the Dragoons."

"We are and even...excuse me...even Porre cannot take that from us." The General had coughed abruptly, which turned Glenn's head back in slight alarm. The taller man caught it and shook his head. "Hah, don't worry, I had an hour's less sleep last night. News from the west reached us late..." His smile turned predatory, as thin-lipped as the creature that was his namesake. "Thine tells us the discussions at Gerzbuehle go well. Porre's ambassadors requested a recess first."

Gerzbuehle was a territory in the west, richer in foodstuffs than in Elements, that the General had lost to Porre some years ago, but now fought tooth and nail- _fang and coil_- to reclaim. That was part of the reason that cat-man was here. "You chose the right person to lead the talks," Glenn said, honestly. "Thine is a fine speaker, not warlike for a Deva."

"Yes...the talks may be over within the next three days, by Her blessing. And after Gerzbuehle is ours again, Porre will never tread on our empire again." The General's smile was proud and tight. "Glenn, I believe I may go to my fathers, that you shall go to yours, and that your sons shall as well, but that in that time, we will see the end of this war, and the beginnings of the next long peace in our islands."

"That's a great relief..." Glenn smiled back. "I can't remember the last time where I went a whole day without thinking about the war...without being so afraid that Termina would be stormed, and I'd have to go out with Karsh and my brother."

"That is because you have never known these islands, free of war." General Viper reached out and- with slight hesitation this time- rested his hand on Glenn's back. "Trust me, Glenn. You will know the beauty of El Nido under a reign of peace. The only enemies you will need fear are those not of this world, and they themselves are rare."

Glenn closed his eyes. "But powerful."

"Yes...but I know your heart, Glenn," General Viper said. "You are of a noble line, but your valor is all your own. You can overcome any devil in this world." His wine-red eyes wavered down, and the smile reappeared. "You simply need a better sword."

Glenn actually laughed, clasping his katana. "Hmm, you noticed that, too, eh?"

"I saw your drills in the courtyard from my window," the General said, chuckling. "It was somewhat amusing, I must confess. It's not every day you look at a sword as though to ask 'what are you doing?'"

Yes, Zappa _would_ be getting this sword back. "I think perhaps I had better master one sword first," Glenn said, wryly. "Perhaps Zappa will have something better suited to my hands. I'll tell him hello for you, sir."

"Please do. Zappa and I go far, far back- I met him and your father at roughly the same time." The General looked pensive a moment, hands again behind his back and his eyes trained on the gigantic manor that was all his. "Tell me something, Glenn, as we talk of blades."

"Sir?"

"Do you still not wish to participate in the Viper Cup?"

Glenn had to think about that. That in itself should have told him the answer was a negative. "...Probably not this year, sir," he said. "My duty as an Acacia Dragoon comes first."

_And I don't feel like losing to Karsh again. And I don't feel like having people give me fake smiles and pats on the back while thinking how much better his older brother was and what a loss to swordsmanship it is that he's dead and at least he has a cross scar that's how we'll remember him._

Glenn tightened his bandana, shutting off his thoughts like an overflowing bottle. His thoughts never made much sense these days anyway. "Besides which," he added, "I made a promise to cheer the Lady Riddel today, sir. I may not be a knight, but the Lady comes first for me."

General Viper nodded, though Glenn saw the push of his tongue on his left cheek. "I suppose it is a day for relaxation rather than exertion," he said, thoughtfully stroking his chin. "Though I still urge you to at least consider an exhibition of some sort in the future. It's been two years, Glenn. A pell is not the same as an opponent..."

"That is true, sir." Glenn quirked his lip towards his scarred cheek, a pang running through him. He knew why the General was asking. Ever since Dario's death, the turnout for the Viper Cup...it was pathetic. The whole of Termina had once flocked to the beaches to see the grand tournament of blades, to see the greatest fighters in El Nido test their skills against one another. Karsh and mighty Zoah had used it as a stepping stone towards their current status as Dragoon Devas. Sir Exeter had dazzled many with his mastery of the Zenan tachi. Still others like Sergeant Trahn and Vance, Helmholz, and Freiturn remained wild cards. The Youth Division held many stars like John and Paul, two town rivals in Termina who were now just old enough to use daggers as daggers rather than swords. Until two years ago, those in the tournament had impressed hundreds.

After Dario's death, they impressed dozens.

The General set his jaw. "Forgive me, Glenn, I simply cannot deny some frustration. This is a time of celebrating, not mourning..."

"I know, sir." Glenn bowed his head. "Dario would never have wanted his death to shade the occasion. He loved that tournament. He was never cold or arrogant, only in battle did he ever grow stern. The rest of the time he was always smiling."

That won only silence. Glenn turned his head back up, and had to fight back a frown. The General's eyes were fluttering, focused on something in the distance- something in the manor. Glenn followed his gaze, thinking it might be the Sky Dragon again, but could see nothing. The manor looked plain as always, though unnaturally unlit. Darkness seemed to reign in every window, something Glenn was not used to. It might have been the light cascading down the line of palm trees framing the massive estate, though; it all seemed to make the darkness _move_ somehow. It prickled, rippled, wavered...

"A problem, sir?" he asked at last.

"Hmm? Oh, no, no." The General smiled as he spoke, but the sweat on the bare crown of his head betrayed it as a lie. "I was wondering where that daughter of mine is. That reminds me- you have no steed, and Termina is not quite a stone's throw."

How quickly the subject was changed. Glenn slapped at his forehead. "Forgive me, sir, I forgot to get a steed-"

"No apology needed, Glenn! Leave it to me," the General said, his tone pleasant. "I shall have our fleetest dragon summoned from the stables. You and Riddel are due for some rather sore legs this evening with all the walking you'll be doing in the city."

Glenn held up both hands, a helpless gesture. "Oh, no, General, sir, you don't ha...you, ah, you're going to do it anyway, aren't you, sir?"

"Of course I am." The General laughed through a grin. Rearing up to an even more impressive height, he flicked a broad hand upward. "I must attend to other duties, but I shall send out a ride for you. Please take care of yourself, Glenn- and of my daughter, though I need not ask."

Glenn stood at attention and clasped his fist to his heart. "By my sword, sir. By my _life_."

General Viper smiled enough to shut his eyes. "You are a fine Dragoon, Glenn. Remember that this day." He pointed a finger. "And remember, this is _my_ Festival. You're not allowed not to have fun. And you certainly," he paused to cock his brows, "aren't allowed to let my daughter not have fun."

The younger man's eyes darted back and forth, and he repeated. "By my life, sir."

"Glenn." The General leaned in close with a wider smile. "When I say no brooding- I do mean no brooding."

"...By my life, sir!"

The General laughed, and waved as he walked off. "Take care, Glenn. At ease- for the rest of the day."

"Take care, sir!"

Glenn leaned back against the well when the General had gone, his massive frame passing through the arch that led into the east courtyard where the stables were. He looked out again along the sprawling lawns of the manor, lined doubly with palm trees and outlined by walls that kept the trees of the cliff from overrunning the manor grounds. Now he saw the front gate open, and two guards stepped out- not Vance and Helmholz, one was a private named Leonard and the other he didn't recognize- to take vigil on either side of it. About time, though maybe this sudden desire for punctuality was due to the General's visit...

The General. Glenn rubbed at the bridge of his nose- pleasant as the older man was, he still couldn't shake the idea that he wasn't the same anymore. He saw that all too often in Riddel (why wouldn't she wake up?) and often cursed himself for presuming so much, but he knew firsthand what it was like for a father to grow so distant from their child. Further, Riddel didn't have too many friends in which she could fill the void anymore...there had only been Dario, Karsh, and two others when she was younger. Karsh was gone on missions most of the time. The two others whose names Glenn had been too young to contribute to memory were long gone, off in Guldove. And Dario was dead. Could the General not see any of this?

Suddenly Glenn slapped his forehead, drilling himself. _Should have told him about last night...about Lynx!_ Imbecile! The General and his grandfatherly ways...he had nearly forgotten what happened the night before with that cat-man...

The cat-man. Glenn gave himself pause to exhale, darken his brow, and stare coldly at the westernmost section of the manor, where there were no windows but beyond which lay the parlor where the guests of Viper Manor always stayed. The day seemed to grow _sicker_ just by looking at it. Beasts, all of them, lecherous and vile beasts-

-_that did not kill my brother which did not kill my brother they did not kill my brother those were demons not demihumans they are not scum they are not vile they are worthy of life they are worthy of living was my brother not worthy of living was he really was he-_

"Wow, that's a scary look!"

Glenn was apt to recognize the voice this time, despite his reverie. "Trahn? You're already up?"

"I am, I am." The young Dragoon who led a fully grown dragon-steed behind him was indeed Sergeant Trahn, the most notable of his class and the man closest to Glenn's age in the manor. Wearing every part of his uniform save the visored helmet, baring his loose brown hair that was tinted with black at some ends, Trahn tugged at the cord of the steed's harness, sidling over to Glenn with a smile that these days was all too rare.

"Stable duty today," Trahn said, sighing. "How a sergeant gets stable duty on Viper Festival, and the hundredth year anniversary no less, I've no idea..."

"My apologies," Glenn said with a rueful smile. "I'm sure the General will let you off in time for this evening, though."

"He didn't seem too keen on handing out vacations when he found me in the stable." Trahn shrugged, rubbing at an eye (his eyelashes were very short, something Glenn continually noticed). "Not exactly the great tragedy of the Acacian Age, but I would have liked a churro," he said. He offered the dragon-steed's reigns to Glenn. "And I would have liked to ride Draggy here, too."

Glenn blinked several times as he took hold of the reigns, looking at the dragon. A great though docile reptilian beast the size of a Zenan horse, with a long tail and neck, great haunches, small forearms and horns that resembled long fins more than anything. It brayed and snorted like a horse, but on the plains was far faster and boasted a wan purple, almost gray hide that was as tough as bronze. An excellent and obedient charger, it was quick to learn and generally not irritable, but when angered in battle it turned into a true fighter. A single kick of one fearsome leg could shatter an unarmored man's sternum like a dinner plate.

That in mind, Glenn had to do a double-check. "...his name is _Draggy_?"

"That's what we call him." Trahn reached over and patted 'Draggy' just above the saddle, on the back of his neck. "Draggy's been one of the best rides in the Manor since he was a pup. The only Dragoon he's ever bitten is..." He paused, and an almost crass smile graced his lips. "Well, now you know why Sindai always scratches himself there."

Glenn chuckled behind closed lips, stroking 'Draggy' behind his left horn. "He looks fast, but his gait is gentle- he'll do nicely, I think," he said. "Now if only Lady Riddel would wake..."

Trahn's eyebrows, which were not short, went halfway up his forehead. "You've got to be kidding me. You were standing here all this time and you didn't know?"

"Huh?"

"Glenn, she's been up for an hour."

Glenn's eyebrows _crowned_ his forehead. "Wh- what? She is?"

"Yes..." Trahn's tongue poked the side of his cheek, trying to keep from cracking up as Draggy snorted. "She's been at the front gate for about half that time- and I guess waiting for you. Were you, ah, staring at the well all this time? And did the General not tell you?"

That almost made Glenn burst, but he vented it while adjusting the already adjusted saddle. Maybe his absentmindedness stripped him of the right to talk, but for the _General_ to not know Riddel was out there- unbelievable. "Thanks for telling me before it got too late," Glenn said, pretending to secure the saddle and wrenching it. "Damn, I came here to cool off after a drill and the poor girl's in the sun with that hot gown of hers..."

Trahn's tongue ballooned his cheek. "Well, that...never mind, you should probably see for yourself. It's quite a thing to see." He saluted, more casual than military. "As for me, I get to spend a lovely day with a dragon's tail swishing with all its pungent glory in front of me. Here's hoping I'll get off duty in time for the festival."

"Here's hoping I'll see you later in the city." Glenn returned the salute. "And I'll take good care of, uh...Draggy."

"You do that," Trahn said, winking. "No more scary faces. I'm sure the Lady doesn't want to see those, either. See you."

"See you," Glenn said, and cheered up just a little. Trahn's world-weary but gentle sense of humor was a welcome treat after the...well, the angst that the General always welled up in him. _'Pungent glory', eh? I'll have to remember that..._

When Trahn had disappeared past that same arched door, Glenn took Draggy by the reins and made considerable haste in leading the dragon over the manor grounds. Trahn may have been in good spirits, but Glenn had caught that flicker of hesitation in his friend's eyes when he mentioned the General. No, it was not impossible- General Viper, leader of the Acacia Dragoons, virtual emperor of El Nido, didn't know his own daughter was standing about a hundred feet away and around the corner in the hot sun. Glenn's sighs fell as heavy as the dragon's snorting; even on apologetic days like this, he wondered if one morning could go without flaw.

Festival. Happy. Go to the festival. Be happy. Grieve your family and then have fun and hurry, blast it, she must be burning up!

Glenn passed two palm trees and rounded a third that lay trapped with the tropical underbrush on the other side of the manor walls. Coming around the corner that it marked, Glenn stepped onto the path of tan tiles that split the manor grounds, noting cracks in some where he hadn't seen any before. Draggy seemed apprehensive, but with a gentle tug of the reins the dragon obediently stepped onto the pavement. Glenn smiled and spared a moment to rub the beast's forehead. "You too, eh? Guess I'm not the only one who thinks the world is 'losing' something..."

Draggy shook his head in a bray. Either he agreed or his feet just weren't accustomed to the tiles.

"We'll see about it," Glenn said, chuckling. With a cluck and a wink he led them towards the gate, looping his thumb in the reins, Draggy moving with reptilian grace, and his mind suddenly aware again that it was a good day. Clear sky, golden tile, new sword awaiting, Miss Riddel smiling. The day was enough, even if he was not.

I do wonder, though, Glenn's mind told him. _In times like these, in a world like this, am I enough? Am I enough to keep her safe? Keep her happy? Keep the scars off her cheek, too...?_

Glenn's mind told him. 

A sobering thought, and one not without images- the General's blind eyes, Karsh's aloofness, the silence etched all over the manor, and for some reason, the unseen devils...demihumans...that had dragged a faithful brother and a proud father from this life into the next.

This was getting old.

Glenn sneered at himself. Enough of that emotional back-and-forth garbage. Today they were going to spit in the face of every rotten, foul, pining thing about life by living and by smiling. It'd be a much better day. Much better.

He led the steed on, and went to find Riddel.

* * *

_"So dirty, zat look was...Monsieur, do you really not want moi to follow zem?" _

"No need. The seeds are planted, and watering them is so delicate a process, don't you think?"

"Oui, 'delicate'...sensible...ze seeds will not grow without light, hmm?"

"Your mind is as keen as your dance, my dear. Excellent work."

"Haha! It was nothing, Monsieur. But, zat girl...pauve ti bete...poor little thing..."

"Fragile, certainly. She won't be without nightmares for some time. A vein in the wrist."

"Hm?"

"A vein in the wrist. An old saying...well...not an old saying quite yet."

"Monsieur speaks in...riddlez."

"...touche, my dear."

"Merci. But, if ze knight is no concern, what of zis...Serge? What did you see last night, Monsieur? Zat man, Karsh- could he not capture him?"

"No. He couldn't."

"...you are not surprized, Monsieur?"

"To tell the truth, my dear...I had no idea. Until this eve prior, I was 'on the fence.' Ambivalent. I did not know how strong he was...is...at this stage in time. In fact, I have yet to truly and properly gauge his strengths. But I have an idea, now, of what it is we deal with. He was still strong enough to evade one future, if he could fend off four soldiers and a seasoned Deva of the Dragoons...and he still doesn't know how deep his power goes. Now I know he has aid, guardians...and thus we have our preparations to attend to, don't we? If we're to overcome them."

"Oui, Monsieur. Zen, ze drake and ze 'lady glace'?"

"Yes. Call them in about an hour...I think I have a job for them. But that subject has filled its capacity for now. Tell me more, my dear, of what the lovely lady of Viper Manor dreamt of, last night..."

* * *

"Now I remember why I never came here," Serge groaned. "It's the most boring place on the island."

The looks on his friends' faces told him they weren't about to disagree. For all the drama it exuded from afar, once the four of them were in Fossil Valley, the place lost most of that charm. Serge now stood upon the grassy but jagged path that wound through it, the 'main path' through the valley. It stunned him to realize that the main path looked like a ten-minute hike. The rest of the valley also surprised him, but little of it actually came from awe. The view was majestic, certainly, and the rocky walls towered for what felt like miles above them on both sides, huge sloping steppes piled in the valley like great coins of rock, carpeted by thin grass and protruding bone. Mist breezed through the valley, looking like sea-foam on the air, from where it collected in the great scar that lay beneath the cliffs of the path.

That was about the extent of its contents. Rock, grass, bone, and mist.

"Well...let's be a little fair, Serge," Exeter said, looking down into the depths as he nudged a stone off the edge of the path. "Nobody ever said the gods made _every_ place on the planet a work of art. You got to expect some chicken scratches with the masterpieces."

"This is one big chicken scratch, then," Serge said, trying not to breathe in too much- the air was pretty thin in the valley, a kick in the head from the heavy moisture of the Arni trail. He lifted up to his feet and looked over to the two girls, a little worried. Kid was standing closest to him, showing no strain at all under the Backpack of Ungodly Weight (Serge reminded himself that he needed a better title for it), occasionally throwing him a smile, but not her attention. She kept looking back and forth over the valley, not in fascination as Leena did some steps away, but more as though something confused her.

Serge took a step over, tilting his head so he came into her view. "Hey- something up? You're looking all over the place."

"Oh..." Kid scratched the back of her head, her face still slightly puckered. "Nah, nothin', really...just, uh, aren't there usually soldiers around here, or somethin'?"

He frowned. _Why does it always have to feel like she's lying about something?_ Shrugging and trying to keep himself more trusting, he turned and threw a scan around the valley path. "In our world, yeah, they've got tons of Porre soldiers up at checkpoints, and they've even got this silly identification system up too," he said. "Here they'd have Dragoons, right, Leena?"

"Huh?" Leena perked up from where she was looking at a boulder on the ground that might actually have been bone. "Ah, yeah, that's right...I don't know where they are today," she said, smiling helplessly. "Sometimes they're all over the main path, sometimes they're higher up in the valley. They do a lot of excavating here. I'm not sure why." She pointed in Exeter's direction. "_He_ always tells me it's classified."

"Classified?" Exeter took a glance at the slopes of the valley, tiled with rock and bone. "This doesn't exactly look optimum for a makeout point...gods, so many strange things in this world," he murmured, lifting a hand and counting off. "No Porre blockades, not even one monster on the Arni trail, and what the hell happened to that leather halter top you always wear for me, Leena?"

"You have reached new tiers of desperate, Exeter," Leena said, her brow almost recoiling from the roll of her eyes. "Never mind that, you pervert, what I want to know is where they are."

Serge frowned. "Where who are?"

"The Dragoons!" Leena threw one hand to the valley and the other to her hip, frowning petulantly. "I can't believe this! They always tell us not to come up here, but where are they? Probably off drinking, which I think is pretty likely, seeing as the _other_ Exeter was supposed to be here too...and which would be really disrespectful." She sighed, looking at a protruding orb of what looked like argenstone embedded in the rock wall of the valley. "We're supposed to be treating these things as sacred, and they are...well, they're boring, yeah, but sacred too."

Serge scratched his brow at that, taking a glance at the same orb. "Sacred, huh? Seems like everything in this part of the island is..."

"All the islands in El Nido are holy," Leena said, unblinking. "Is...that not what the Record of Fate says in your world?"

Something buzzed in Serge's head, washing into a chill that was somehow warm down his back. "The Record of Fate..." he muttered, frowning deeper. He had never used it, so he remembered it only vaguely. _In Chief Radius' hut, a path framed by sunlight from the windows...and something like a green glow at the end, too bright to see clearly...Mom called it 'a letter from the gods'?_

"The green prism in Radius' house," Exeter said to him, sensing his thoughts and matching his expression. "Scientists from Guldove have been studying it for years, even before the Porre- we still don't know how it works. When people approach it, though, it's like whatever kind of stress, whatever problem they were having that day...they suddenly know how to take care of it."

"Yes! It's a gift from the Dragon Gods, really, it is," Leena said, brightening. "It tells us other things, too, many, many things. How life began, why it did, what the Dragon Gods are, how to use Elements...who were the first people on these islands, what the weather is like today, what it was like a thousand years ago, your family history, what your talents are, even what you're allergic to." She smiled proudly. "We don't have any crime in Arni because of that."

Kid's head snapped over with a sharp look. "Huh? Wait, what? Y'mean...no thieves, no robbers or nothin'?"

Leena paused. "W-well...we do get a few every now and then," she said, twisting her lip. "Not _too_ many, though. It's because the Record tells us how to live our lives."

_How to live your..._ Serge felt another tingle ride down his back. "Uh...I gotta say, that last one-"

"Oh, no, no!" Leena shook her head, seeming to realize the nature of her words, and a touch of pink rushed to her cheeks as she explained. "I don't mean it forces us to do anything or makes us do its bidding, it, it just...I guess if you think of it as a record of history, personal traits, and ethics, it makes more sense. It just tells us how to live the right kind of life. Decency. Tolerance. Common sense..."

Exeter glanced at the deep scar of the valley, like he had something to say about that, but whatever it was, he let go of it. "'Common' sense, huh...? Well, right now, common sense says we need to get to Termina before dark," he said, fanning out the front of his tunic. "Though later, I'd like to hear more about your Record of Fate, Leena."

"My Record?" The Arni girl's amber eyes narrowed. "I don't get what you mean- I don't own it, nobody does..."

The swordsman gave her that same glance, then settled on a wry smile. "Ah...sorry," he said. "I'm not making a lot of sense today. I mean, the Record of Fate in this world. If it's the same as ours."

Leena seemed to gauge him a moment more, but a shrug cut it off. "Well, I don't see why it wouldn't be. Though..." She paused a second, straightening as something occurred to her. "Maybe that would explain why things are so different for you two."

"What do y..." Serge slapped his forehead. "Duh. Right, if the Records in our world say something different..."

"_No._ No way in the six hells that could do it."

The strange harshness that Exeter's tone had taken brought Serge's head over to him. "Huh?"

Exeter gave Serge an exasperated look, rolling his tongue over his teeth. "Gimme a break...a floating pyramid the size of a chair is responsible for you being dead in this world? For the climate being hotter? For Viper being alive? For El Nido being _free_?" He curled his lip and almost snarled. "My ass. No third-rate fortune cookie decides my destiny."

Leena recoiled, her voice dropping to a murmur. "I was...it was just a thought."

What the hell..? Serge's frown became stern, and not because of the wind whipping in his face. "Ex, take it easy," he said, his voice suddenly like iron. "What crawled up your butt?"

"...nothing," Exeter sighed, and his face tightened into a grimace, then fell wryly as it looked on Leena. "Sorry, Leena, I didn't mean to snap. Stupid of me to say it like it was a fact. I just really, really don't know what's going on..." He turned, sidled the Murakumo, and started walking down the path with an itch in his step. "And that pisses me off. Royally...now, come on. Let's get going. Termina before nightfall."

There was an awkward hesitation before anyone started moving again, a puff of what was either mist or an extremely low-flying cloud rippling the valley peak high above them. As Exeter doggedly paced ahead, though, Leena started moving, the pink on her cheeks pulsing into a red. She must have felt the warmth gathering, as she swiftly turned her head down and hurried after the swordsman without even casting a glance at Serge or Kid, muttering as a patch of mist rippled her glossy hair. "Right."

Kid, who had been silent through most of the exchange, turned to Serge, her brow and voice softening. "That was pretty weird, huh, mate?" she said. "Gotta say, you're handlin' this well. You're takin' it a lot better than he is..."

"I guess so," Serge said, and gnawed the inside of his cheek as he did, watching Exeter kick a rock off the cliff far ahead and trying to stop the shiver within him. "I thought he _was_ holding up, though...he hadn't made a peep about any of this for so long. He looked like he'd accepted it before we even hit the Cape."

"Before the Cape, huh?" Kid's head leaned toward the shoulder that held the strap of the giant pack on it, eyes musing. "You think he might'a...no...forget it."

Serge took in a breath that stung his head, looking at her wryly. "Y'know, I don't just let people get off with a 'no, it's nothing'," he said, winking, "and you're in a really bad habit of it lately. You can tell me what's on your mind, Kid."

"Hehe..." She returned the grin, but shook her head, pulling on the strap. "Nah, really, I just had a funny idea for a second there...but maybe I'm just tryin' too hard to figure out your swordmate there." Kid paused, some tension entering her expression again as she looked around. "Or maybe this business is gettin' to me..."

He cocked a brow under a windswept lock. "'This business'? You mean me being here?"

Another pause. Kid breathed in, her muscles tensing visibly before continuing. "I ain't gonna hide it from you, Serge," she whispered, "but please don't let Leena or Exeter know. Y'know how I told ya about those three mates o'mine that hang around here?"

"Oh..." Serge recalled it and nodded, feeling the loneliness of the valley for the first time. "Yeah, doesn't look like they're here. Doesn't look like anybody is, really. Kind of creepy, huh?"

"No kiddin'." Kid reached up and rubbed the nape of her neck, looking Serge in the eye with a kind of fear he was seeing for the first time. "And I'm worried about 'em, mate. This isn't like 'em. I heard some funny noises comin' from here when I was on my way up to the Cape, too, and with the Dragoons and that bastard Karsh around these parts..."

Serge had to fight back a frown. His first impulse was to ask why that would matter, but then he paused. The way Kid said that made it sound like Karsh would have a reason to go after these three friends of hers. As nasty as Karsh was, Serge didn't think of him as the type to just go around killing people he passed on the road. _Something else you're not telling me, Kid...?_

"Plus," she went on, sighing, "I got a little scared when y'told me about that Field thing back there. Red, green, blue...those are the kinda Elements they always buy in Termina."

That explained a lot more. Serge offered a smile, figuring she could use one. "I'm sure those are common around this part of the island, on this world," he said. "Take it easy. Your friends probably just hightailed it to that big concert tonight. You know, to camp out."

"Pffsh..." Kid snorted, but smiled anyway, weak and forced. "Yeah, maybe. I wouldn't blame 'em, though if they just up 'n left without tellin' me, they _will_ kiss the moons!"

"That's the spirit!" Serge flashed a thumbs-up, winking again. "Make them tongue those no-good moons."

"Oi...Exeter Two, that's what I gotta start callin' ya." They shared another grin, and it was a moment before either broke eye contact. Kid tucked back a blonde lock that actually hadn't fallen out of place, glancing after the now-distant figures of Exeter and Leena. She quirked her lip, her gaze lingering on the Arni girl. "She looks pretty glum, huh?" she murmured. "I dunno why she wanted to come along...seems like it only makes her sadder."

"Me, too..." Serge sighed, rubbing at the faint pain in his sinuses as he looked at Leena from afar. "I tell you, Kid...I've never felt so bad for showing up, anywhere. Every time she looks at me, I feel like I should've slept an extra hour yesterday morning...or maybe something a little more than that. Maybe if I'd never even gotten that close to her at all..."

Kid nodded along, but not in agreement. "Close, huh? You were..."

"Best friends, yeah." Serge scratched the back of his head, not wanting to stay still while he told her, sighing in sudden fatigue. "I really wish I knew what was going on and how the hell there could be another world where I'm as dead as Guardia! Something happened on that damn beach- Opassa Beach, that's where it stopped making sense."

"Opassa, eh?" She ran a gloved thumb along her chin in picturesque contemplation. "Is there anythin' strange about Opassa? Maybe you have some history with it?"

Black moving in the ferns, just under the palm trees, I thought it was just a shadow but it was real, muscular, sleek, powerful, long, lithe, grace I'll never have, walking on the sand like it was a paved road, green eyes that found me, whiskers twitching from its breath, breaking out from the bushes but not touching any of them racing at me and then a jump, a long, long jump fangs open claws stretched and pain screaming crying begging it to stop

"No." Serge's eyes turned down to his closed right hand, at the white line tracing through his palm and the awful memory it encompassed. "Just some scrapes and skinned knees, from when I was a kid..."

"Hmm..." Kid's face had grown worried but not probing as he spoke. "Really wish I knew what's happenin', meself, mate. And I wish I knew how to help ya, too...so you'll just have t'settle for me comin' along to Termina, eh? Once we get a room for ya to sleep off the aches o' the road, we'll figure this out." She grinned encouragingly and slugged his shoulder. "Sound good? Detective Kid 'n Constable Serge!"

Serge tucked his head in and snickered. "Constable, huh? That does sound good. Yeah, I got this feeling if I stick with you, I may find what I'm looking for. I don't know. Something about your face, I think."

She blinked widely. "My face?"

"Yeah." He nodded, noting for some idle but obvious reason that she was very pretty when she blinked like that, and lifted a finger to point at her face. "It's the eyes, I think. They're...well, there's some word for that shade of blue that I can't remember, but they're that. Deep, bright, clear." _Starts with a C...that waitress in Belcha's Kitchen would use it all the time..._

Kid suddenly looked down to her necklace, holding back an embarrassed laugh. "Ahh...can't say I know off the top of me head, either..." The white paint on her cheeks looked like it was about to melt.

Serge smiled and waved it off. "It'll come to me, I'm sure. I'll tell you when it does." Out of the corner of his eye he saw Exeter's figure growing a little hazy. Not wanting to fall too far behind, he hooked his Swallow on the small harness on the back of his shirt. "C'mon, better get moving before they leave us in the dust, huh?"

After a moment more of pursing her lips, Kid smiled, hefted up the pack, and fell into step with him. "Yeah. We shouldn't be separated like this anyway. Let's move before anybody sees us..."

Despite those words, Serge was hard-pressed to find any signs of danger as they walked after their two companions. His gaze kept wandering up to the towering cliffs on both sides of the path, and to the piled steppes that stacked higher and higher as they moved. The grass felt pretty thin beneath his shoes, and they seemed to crunch easier the farther they went down the path. Yet even with that noise and the gap they'd formed from Leena and Exeter during that long conversation, Serge wasn't worried. He frowned but there was no other tension in his body. Even the muscles that bore the weight of his broken Swallow felt relaxed. There was no alien movement in the shadows or behind the rocks.

About thirty seconds into the walk, when they rounded the sharp corner of the valley trail- a thin angle forming a crack that they probably could have stepped across- Serge saw a family of dingoes in a little den in the rock wall; an adult with puppies, all dark brown with white stripes and large ears. The puppies were curled up with their parent, but it was not asleep. It growled very briefly at Serge and Kid as they passed, but quieted once they passed. Kid seemed to think it was funny, and when she flashed a monkey grin, it quieted down.

_Even the wildlife isn't worried..._ Serge was careful not to look down as he rounded the bend, the hazy white at the bottom of the valley betraying its ominous depth. He focused on a smile to the dingo family, tugging at the front of his bandana. _Nature's little pleasures. They're so cute..._

The quiet gave him plenty of time to think, at least. Thoughts of the earlier conversation between Ex and Leena sent a pang through his gut. Sighing softly, Serge glanced ahead at them. Ex was walking in his usual tall stride, sword rotating subtly on his shoulder with each step he took. Whatever chip was on that shoulder he seemed to have filled rather easily.

When he looked at Leena, though, he faltered. Though he couldn't see her face, Serge could picture her amber eyes, timid and downcast, lips tightly puckered, jaw set. She had her hands behind her back as she walked, each step slow and measured- she hadn't gotten very far from him and Kid during their talk- and looking thinner and more delicate as she grew closer. Her head was bowed slightly, too, her soft hair hanging solemnly over her shoulders. He could see her playing with the ladle behind her back, fingers tapping it erratically.

Thinking on this any longer would turn his face the same way. Serge chewed painlessly on the inside of his cheek, wondering if there was anything he could do. He wished he had something to cheer her up with. Quietly he let his free hand search his left pocket- he had a pouch in there, probably his allowance. He had about 500 gold pieces saved up, as he recalled (which should have been enough to just _buy_ Leena the damn scales yesterday). If Termina had a nice gift shop-

Huh?

Serge slowed in his step, something finally drawing his eye to the trail's precipice. Now they had come to a spot where a large slope, like an earthen staircase, ran parallel to their path, hugging a rock wall and leading up to the face of a high steppe that had something like a rope ladder draped over it. That did not draw his attention from what he saw growing on the jagged edge of the trail. For some reason, there was a little patch of bushes growing along there, and within the wan olive leaves was a mass of blue that stood out like a lion shark in calm water. It was a collection of flowers, so blue that he almost mistook them as purple, with white pollen springing up from their center. There was at least ten of them growing on the bush, and he noticed that as small as they were, they had a distinct tubular shape, almost like bells.

It was the color that grabbed him, though. That blue...not quite the color he was thinking of, the one that was called a word that started with a C that he couldn't remember but that Kid's eyes were full of, but they were only a shade or so off. Deepest blue, verging on purple- a gorgeous color.

It only took him two glances between the flower and Leena's downcast head. He just had to. Half-smiling, Serge leaned as far as he could to the precipice without actually looking down it, and plucked a flower. He thought about picking one for Kid, just because, but she really, really didn't seem like the type of girl to dig flowers. Leena, though- no matter what world she was in, she was into those make-believe stories. He'd seen her put flowers behind her ear before, too. And this was a really nice color...

The flower wavered in the air as Serge stood back up, and he watched it bob with a smile. _It's not THAT cheesy, and it is a really nice color-_

The end of that thought came when, ahead of him, Leena gasped and cried out. Startled, Serge looked up from the flower-

-and saw Exeter drop the Murakumo, and crumple face-first to the grass.

A flush and a pang gripped his chest, Serge's fingers very nearly dropping the flower in that moment of numbness. "Ex...what th- Ex! _Ex_!"

Kid's head snapped up, and before she could even gape, Serge was rushing ahead. He yanked his Swallow off his back and shoved the flower into his pocket, rushing to Exeter's prone form even as Leena skidded beside the fallen swordsman. The Arni girl's eyes were as wide as his, her hands wrapping around Exeter's shoulders and straining to pull him over onto his back. His head swayed as he turned over to rest against her arm and lap, his eyes faintly open- that calmed Serge a bit, but not enough to slow him down in his step.

"Ex!" Serge panted, dropping to a knee beside Exeter and looking to Leena when he didn't respond. "What happened?"

"I- I don't know," Leena said, shivering as she held him up. "He just...he started stumbling, I thought he might be tired, but he dropped his sword and fell..."

"Gangway, mates!" Kid shouted from behind, the bag slamming into the ground at Exeter's feet. She broke her run and knelt beside it, her face taut as she peered into his. "Oi...his eyes are glazed. I think he's out...Leena, check his arms, maybe he got stung by a bee or somethin'."

Serge ran his teeth over each other, carefully cupping the nape of Exeter's neck and studying his face. He was breathing, and his eyes were indeed creaked open just a little. They were glazed like Kid had said, though, and he looked very pale besides- maybe he had been bitten or stung, after all. Serge was disturbed, and more than a little scared to see Exeter like this. He felt safe around the guy a lot more than he liked to admit. It was a shock to see him just fall like that, pass out and grow pale and sweat like he had a fever of over a hundred.

"Ugh..." moaned Exeter, suddenly, squinting hard as though his vision were smudged. "Buzz in my head...what...d-damn...general...the vanguard fell..."

Silence hung for a moment, but where Serge expected her to freeze up, Leena instead lifted a hand to Exeter's face. "Shh..." she murmured, something flickering there in the sunlight- an Element talisman. Her eyes half-closed, the strands of auburn on her forehead lifting in a breeze that only she felt. Then, in the little cup she made with her palm, water seemingly willed itself from the tiny crystal bead, and sloshed in her hand. Yet this was not the kind of water sloshing in the oceans or the lakes. The water in Leena's hand was luminescent, strands of aquamarine light being cast on her pretty face. Serge felt the land ripple as it welled in her hand, not as though it had lost energy, but rather as if part of it had moved.

Leena quickly but gently lifted her palmful of the glowing water to Exeter's mouth, tipping his head forward to drink. He did, slowly, the light slowly fading from his face and hers as it ran down his throat. When the last drops had disappeared past his lips, a quick shiver went through him, and then he stopped squinting. His eyes remained glazed, but the color was back in his face. Groaning lowly, the swordsman leaned back, and brought a hand to his head.

Kid shook her head, utterly captivated by what she'd just seen. "Bugger, girl. Incredible."

"Yeah..." Serge looked to Leena with new regard in wide eyes. "That was amazing," he said, honestly. "You did that without even trying, it looked like. Was that Cure?"

"Cu...oh! Yeah, that was 'Cure'," Leena said, and colored pink, not only at his words but also at the dazzled eyes of Kid. "It's only strong enough to quell nausea or suppress a fever for a little while, but it's not that hard to make, even when the air is this dry, and it doesn't take so much out of..." She paused, taking a breath and giggling shakily. "Well...it does take a bit out of you when the air is this dry. Phew."

Kid glanced in amazement between the other girl and Exeter, and then cracked a big cheery grin. "Looks like ya worked the magic touch, Leena! I think he's comin' around- you all right there, Swordy? Bah, guess somethin' didn't agree with your stomach there, probably had one o' them funny mushrooms that grow up there by the Cape this mornin'- _Serge_-"

"_NOW!_"

The shouts were not enough to warn Serge, not enough to jolt his combat instincts, even with Kid's panicked face ringing the first so close to his. The other came from behind, delivered too sharply for him to recognize the voice, and even as he seized his Swallow in his hands, it was on him. Serge jerked as though he'd been punched in the lower back, the faces of the two girls in front of him suddenly rippling as his vision was splashed with gray. He swore he could see something like black mist darting around him, but mist couldn't possibly move that fast. His teeth clenched as something seemed to reach inside him and twist, never quite touching him but making him feel like he was about to vomit. Yet it was suddenly gone in an instant, and his eyesight was clear and calm once again.

Damn damn damn! Serge whirled, lifting the Swallow up in a hand that strangely only felt a little disoriented. With his other he thumbed his bandana high, aiming to get a clear view of their attackers. _Someone got the jump on me, what's going on inside my body-_

Serge whirled, lifting the Swallow up in a hand that strangely only felt a little disoriented. With his other he thumbed his bandana high, aiming to get a clear view of their attackers. 

"Bloody hell!" Kid was on her feet in an instant, and gaped ahead, hand flying to her dagger. "It's...it's Fatso and Twiggy!"

...oh, just perfect.

Serge made a face like he'd stubbed his toe. Sure enough, from behind the rock wall that curved just a few meters ahead of them, there loomed two familiar shapes- two men in armor, one short, fat, and balding, and the other a toothpick with a moustache and a helmet three times too big. Both were sneering, though the skinny one looked like the expression was new to him, and they held the same axes they'd brought to the fight at Cape Howl. Given how musty their armor looked and how haggardly gleeful their faces were, Serge was willing to bet they hadn't even stopped to rest since that fight the day before.

But no mistake about it- they were ready to fight. They were enemies.

"So...it's you two, from Cape Howl," Serge gritted, shunting aside the tension in his chest, "Shake...and Bake."

"WHAT? No, no, NO!" The fat one turned his grin into a menacing leer, stomping his foot and his axe on the ground. "You idiots! It's _Peppor_! Peppor and Solt, A-Axemen of the Shaker Clan of Termina! How shakin' dare you?"

Serge shook his head and waved his free hand uncaringly. "Whatever! I haven't forgotten what you did up at the Cape, fellas," he said. "It's time to get even- no, wait, I got one better...it's time to put you two culinary clowns back in the spice rack!"

The bad pun hit like a flintlock bullet. As Peppor ground a fist into his groaning face, Solt lifted the hand that held something like a white crystal with a ring of black paint. Serge flinched, but the skinny Dragoon was just scratching his cheek.

"What does 'culinary' mean?" Solt asked Peppor. "It sounds like a place- Peppor! Maybe it's that shack out on the island north of Mount Pyre that we always see! The inconspicuously inconspicuous one, with all the smoke!"

_Okay, so one's a rage-o-holic and the other's just a blithering idiot...I like those odds._ Serge exchanged a cocked eyebrow with Kid, then turned back to the now-arguing pair- Peppor looked like he was going to yank out Solt's tongue and choke him with it. Becoming serious a moment, Serge brandished the Swallow, still feeling that odd tension in his chest. "Kindergarten aside, you two- what are you doing here? You guys high-tailed it out of Cape Howl with that Magical Dreamers reject you call a Deva, chasing that weird monk out to Gods know where!"

"Shaddap!" Peppor whirled on Serge, cheeks like two pink balloons. "Y-you pack of smartasses are going down today! Solt! Ready the secret weapon!"

"Yes, Peppor!" Solt said, drawing the hand that held the crystal away from his face. Instantly it began to tremble, and even in the noon sun it began to gleam. Serge felt Kid's hand slap on his shoulder, and a gasp from Leena gave him a second more of warning. Yet by the time he had his Swallow up, the crystal was already giving off a sharp whine, which Serge recognized as an effect of Element crystals outside the "quad"- any of earth, air, fire, and water. Which meant this was either light or dark-

Oh, damn, the first one- a dark, it reversed my innate, that's why my chest hurts daaaamn-

"Now!" Peppor spun around in a heartbeat with surprising elegance, and shot his finger towards Serge in a mighty point. "_SHAKIN' HOLY ELEMENT CANNON- FIRE!_"

The whine increased, the white light betrayed the start of some powerful skill, and before any other movement could be made, the crystal suddenly shattered. Its lanky user was bowled over from the sheer force of the blast, and Serge watched for all of a second as a large, swirling missile of light shot from where the crystal had once hung intact. He braced, instantly- it was like a disembodied funnel made of light, fast and spiraling, effortlessly halving the distance between Solt and Serge in a heartbeat. But it was no light-show that was headed at him. This was nature's power laid bare and at the command of a mere mortal, and in some hands that power was lethal. Serge's heart sank before it even reached him, knowing full well what the element of light meant to someone with a Dark-innate- _dead dead I'm dead_-

It struck him full-on in the chest, felt like a weightlifter had shoved him hard, wrapped around him in glowing wreaths-

-and nothing happened.

"...huh?"

Serge blinked, the word escaping his mouth without even the slightest bit of discomfort. The light was gone. He examined himself quickly, eyes searching for a wound or a tear in his clothing. There was nothing. In fact, the tension in his chest was gone. He felt...good. Great, even. The Swallow even felt easier to carry in one hand.

Kid was just as puzzled. "What the 'ell? Mate, you all right...?"

"Er...yeah..." Serge chafed quickly at his chest, where the skill had hit him. "Never better. Feels like I lost weight."

Peppor was aghast. "What the shake! Why isn't he dead! Th-that thing was supposed to make him dead!"

Solt was just now scrambling upright, his helmet jerked halfway up his head. "Huh? Peppor!" he exclaimed, as astonished as his partner. "Nothing happened! He's still perfectly perfect- other than that bandana, that's got to go."

"I...I don't get it!" Peppor breathed. "Why didn't the elements trigger?"

Before he even finished the question, Solt's head tilted forward- he'd spotted something on the ground. Serge followed his gaze, and saw the remnants of that crystal, lying on the ground in shards. In the center, however, as though placed by some chance or stroke of fate, was a single piece of paper, fluttering in the valley wind, trapped under a broken piece of the talisman.

Solt plucked the paper in a cautious hand, and turned it over, his mousy nose twitching. "Wait...Peppor! There's a note! That Nanashi person must have put it inside the crystal!"

Twitching and paling as though he had a vague idea of what it was, Peppor stared blankly at Serge, asking Solt in a dead monotone, "

paper...?"

"Yeah...it says...'if you're reading this, I got Holy Light and Turn-White mixed up agai-"

"SHAKE IT ALL TO HELL!"

"Ahahahaha!" Kid nearly keeled over, but remained upright enough to point at the two dragoons as she held her stomach. "Oh, you boys slay me...well, you wish y'could, anyway!"

A fuming Peppor turned a nice shade of red as he yanked Solt up to his feet. "That is it," Peppor growled. "I...I am going to outline my plan, if you don't mind. First, I'm going to shakin' kill the lot of you. Second, I'm gonna find that Nana-chi guy and kill the SHAKE out of HIM. Third-" He shook Solt until he gave a ululating wail. "I'm going to wipe every window in Termina with _your_ shakin' butt-"

"Waaah! Marcy! I mean, mercy! But Marcy would be nice too!"

Serge noted it would have been very, very easy to just sneak on by, or whack Peppor with the blunt end of the Swallow, while he was fuming- but in all honesty he felt kind of sorry for the two Dragoons. He'd rather be in charge of garbage dumped in the Hydra Marshes back home than have their job. Smirking wryly, Serge thumbed his bandana over suddenly daring eyes. "Well, guys, it was really nice to see you again, maybe we'll go grab a few sweet rolls sometime...run back and tell Karsh you would've gotten away with this if it weren't for that meddling-"

And then Serge wondered when Leena had gotten behind them.

"You two," Leena whispered, with amber eyes glowing like rays from a wicked sun, and an ominous round object slowly rising in her right hand, "are going to pay."

It was a thing of wonder to behold as Solt and Peppor were _yanked_ off their feet, wailing in shock as they slammed on their armored backs to the path. Tumbling, the next sounds they heard were that of something like a metal club pinging on their armor- Solt's helmet resounding like a struck pot, dull thuds landing on Peppor's skull in a bedlam of strikes from above. The two Dragoons clutched at their heads, seemingly forgetting that they had axes as they covered up, howling in pain.

"Aaah! What the shake- AAH!"

"Ow my head! Ow my temples! Ow my skull! Ow my IQ- OW!"

"Owww! The sky is falliiiing-"

"Heeeeelp!"

The huge frying pan in Leena's hand came down over and over again, never failing to miss the very crown of the two Dragoons' heads. Beating down with the fury of a ninety-eight-pound maiden possessed, Leena swept the frying pan like a sledgehammer, smacking painfully on the skulls of Solt and Peppor.

"How dare you! How dare you ambush innocent passer-bys! You attacked Exeter, didn't you? And then you attack my friend with your stupid Turn elements! Acacia Dragoons or not, I'll make you pay! _Divine Maiden Technique - OMNISLAP!_"

A combined "aaaah" went up from the two crestfallen Shaker brothers as Leena added a dainty but sharp palm into the fray, slapping them with brutal efficiency. Across it went, then back, reddening four dirty cheeks in the blink of an eye, and there might have been a curious blue aura around her hand as it connected. Her hair started to fly from the impact. Solt and Peppor thrashed on the dirt path, pleading for mercy.

"Aaagh!" Peppor rolled like an egg on his back, his cheeks the color of turnips. "Dragon Gods! Kill me noooow!"

"Plea-he-hease stop hitting me!" Solt begged, covering his head. "It's painfully pain- OW- hurts!"

Disgust and danger suddenly in her eyes, Leena relented, the mysterious frying pan swinging high in a threatening pose. "Get out of here! Go on, scram! GET! You'd better be gone by the time I count to ten!"

Dirt, pebbles, crystal shards, and some tears masked Solt and Peppor as they scrambled upright, clutching the gigantic lumps on their heads. They cut quite an interesting stride, with Peppor almost veering punch-drunkenly off the path, and Solt running with his head held low to the ground. The two hapless Dragoons beat down the path, all the way to the other bright end of Fossil Valley that sprawled out into more tree-framed roads- but even if it had led into the mouth of Hell their speed wouldn't have decreased in the slightest. They screamed and shouted all the way until they were out of sight.

"Peppoooor! She's too muchly much for us! A monster!"

"It hurts! It hurts like a bad shave! L-let's shake it on outta here!"

"Retreeeeat!"

"And don't come back!" With a perilous grin, Leena pumped a fist in the air after them, and in her other hand she twirled her frying pan in a great circle over her head. With an expert cook's hand she brought it to rest over her back at the very end of the motion, as though sheathing between her shoulders. "No one harms the friends of the Divine Maiden of Arni Village! Never show your shameful faces again, disgraces to the name of Acacia!"

Serge's mouth was literally a dot on his face. "Ho...ly..."

Kid piped up only after a long, deeply perturbed moment. "Huh. Y'know, I _was_ wonderin' why Viper kicked it in your world."

Sighing, Leena brushed back her hair, turning with softer eyes to Kid and Serge. "Whew...I'm sorry," she said, sheepishly. "Sorry that you had to see that side of me. I made a promise to Exeter- my Exeter- that I would never use that technique, except to protect my-"

"'Most important people,'" Serge finished in near-unison with her, slapping his forehead. "Yyyeah, I've heard that sermon before. Let me guess, he asked you to do that after you used it on him?"

"Well...yes, actually." Leena scuffed her hand on the back of her head in embarrassment. "I don't usually hit people like that, though, please don't think I do. I'm surprised that even worked, but I guess all that pan-flipping in the kitchen makes you pretty strong!"

"And they say it's women's work," Kid snorted. "Um, just- just one question, though, girlie..."

"Yes?"

"...'Omnislap'?"

As Leena flushed and scratched the back of her head in a picture of innocence, Serge perked at the sound of a groan behind them. He turned and immediately lit up, relief flooding through him at the sight of Exeter stirring. "Hey, the patient's awake!" the Arni boy said, sidling over to the groggy swordsman. "Damn, guy, you gave us a scare there."

"Mmf..." As the two girls rushed over after Serge, Exeter sat up with no more effort than a morning rise, face wrinkled as though afflicted with some unholy migraine. He yawned and rubbed the back of his hand over the bridge of his nose, seeing stars. "Oh, wow, what the hell?" he groaned. "Did I pass out? Must've...last thing I remember is Leena calling my name in that delightful countertenor voice of hers..."

"...Well, at least his libido didn't bruise when he fell." Serge snorted some particularly dry air and grabbed hold of Exeter's hand, hauling the other man upright. "What happened, Ex? The valley air too light for you?"

Exeter shook his head carefully, taking his proffered sword from Leena's hands. "No, I got this weird 'buzz' in my head," he said. "Took away all my energy, like my body was forcing me to go to sleep. I think I was out on my feet before I even hit the ground..." He glanced tiredly around the windblown path, focusing on something other than the rocks and grass and dirt. "I think I dreamt about something."

"You said something about the vanguard falling," Leena said, quietly brushing her arm. "It gave me the creeps, the way you said it. You...well, the Exeter I've known never talked like that, in his stories."

Whatever earlier discomfort the two of them had shared, returned now. Exeter aired out the collar of his tunic, looking wryly aside. "In, um...in one of our last fights against the Porre," he muttered, "they fired some kind of ray from a remote position. The damage was intense. A good chunk of their own men died. But our vanguard got the worst of it. Half of them died outright. The whole charge fell. We lost a lot of good people that day. " For just that moment, Serge thought his friend looked pretty old, even moving his jaw to speak a tiring effort. "Don't mean to prattle, but that's probably what I meant. Better to tell you then just go, y'know...'oh, it's nothing.' Heh."

Serge felt like he should say something to that, at least grace it with a thought. He couldn't. Just trying to wrap his head around it- a defeat that no longer existed- had his temples starting to ache. He thumbed his bandana, managing to enjoy the comfortable friction of it rubbing against his hair even as his three companions fell silent.

Ever the uncomfortable fourth party, Kid shifted the giant bag to break the unquiet pause. "Maybe this place _is_ haunted," she said. "Whaddaya say we get movin' before all four of us start seein' the flies we've all swatted? Better yet, before we get jumped by Ketchop and Mustord with their Bun Cannon or...whatever!"

"Sounds like a plan," Serge said, wishing he could put smiles back on everyone and keep them there for five minutes. "Then again, uh, we have our own One-Maiden-Army right here..."

At that, Exeter caught sight of the frying pan Leena held, and cocked both brows. "Whoa! What the hell happened to that?"

"Oh..." Leena returned the cookware-turned-weapon to her side, thrusting it through the sash at her waist. "Just- just a little mishap on the road with a couple- what did you call them, Serge? Culinary clowns?"

"Yyyeah...I need some new material, I guess," Serge said, laughing. "Uh, tell you what, I'll fill you in on the way, Ex. Right now I'm just about done with this glorified nature hike and we could all use a place to sit and wash up and get lunch." He flashed a smile to Kid. "So, that'd be..."

"Termina!" Kid perked up and clapped her gloved hands together. "Yeah! Serge's right, we can't stand around lookin' sad for half an hour. Leave that to the docs at Guldove. Right now there's a party in Termina, givin' away squid gut pasta with our names on it!" Almost spontaneously she pumped her arms and wiggled her hips. "And then the dance at midnight!"

Things brightened another note (however lecherous) with the return of Exeter's easy grin. "Okay, you got me sold," he said, hauling his sword up and taking the lead again. "'And so Mighty Exeter, healed by the aquatic touch of Maidenly Leena and the sway of Frisky Kid's hips, returned to his quest for squid gut pasta and full red lips! Oh, and Gentle Serge brought up the rear, taking notes.'"

Serge tugged his bandana lower. "Why, I oughtta."

"Hmph! Bushido Libido," Leena muttered. Then, in a way that seemed to be designed for his sight alone, she looked over to Serge, smiled weakly, and mouthed 'Thanks.' Unsure of what she was grateful for, but grateful for her smile himself, Serge tipped his bandana and winked back his welcome.

Then all four of them fell back into step, pacing down the valley path with a certain eagerness that Serge had felt back when they'd left Arni. There were questions he had, certainly- mostly about that ambush by Solt and Peppor, and about what that buzz in Exeter's head might have been, but there were others too. Like why things kept slipping from the good to the bad and back again. Like why the whole of Fossil Valley felt like a crypt instead of a simple excavation site. Like why he knew Kid from that awful dream which he thought he'd been able to forget. And still there was that one question that applied to this place, this world, and even him:

What happened?

They'd soon be at Termina, port-town pride of the Acacia Dragoons. He hoped he wouldn't have to buy answers with visions anymore.

"So, mate," Kid piped up cheerily, "let's hear yer take on Leena's stunt back there, eh? I'll do runnin' commentary."

Existential checklist later. Smiles now.

Serge smiled, rested the Swallow about his shoulders, and hung his arms over it. "Heh, all right, so, about what happened while you were out, Ex," Serge said, eyeing Leena with a vague sense of fear, "you know that time we saw Belcha chuck that Guldove drunk out of the Kitchen, and he landed face-down in one of Poshul's after-dinner proofs of purchase? I think this is gonna top it..."

* * *

To be continued... 


End file.
